


Our Mutual Undoing: Frayed

by deadwestern, The_Cellar_Dweller



Series: Our Mutual Undoing [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Betrayal, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Past Brainwashing, Pregnant Sex, Riding, Rough Sex, Season/Series 02, Seduction, Self-Mutilation, Snakes, Sparring, Topping from the Bottom, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2019-12-25 07:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 113,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18256562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadwestern/pseuds/deadwestern, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Cellar_Dweller/pseuds/The_Cellar_Dweller
Summary: Following the script and plot of NBC's Hannibal, Bec Reyes and Huesyth Cavalli have taken the roles of the leading characters FBI criminal profiler Will Graham and Dr. Hannibal Lecter.Unlike the leads, they will share different experiences, emotions, and over time form what may become a long-lasting relationship amid the madness.





	1. “Kaiseki”

The knife slid smoothly through the tender meat, his movements almost robotic and lacking his usual flare for the dramatics. A shape moved out of the corner of his eye and the doctor looked up from his work to meet Jack’s determined eyes. They simply stared for a long, nearly dead silent moment until something subtle changed behind Huesyth eyes, almost immeasurable but Jack noticed.

The agent’s hand drifted toward his inner coat pocket, brushing his thumb against the fastening of his sidearm holster at the same time the knife left Huesyth’s hand. Jack drew his gun from the holster but the flying knife sunk into the back of his hand, the gun clattering to the floor.

In a flurry of movement, Huesyth vaulted over the kitchen counter as Jack yanked the knife from his hand, swinging it immediately as the doctor approached, narrowly missing him. Huesyth grabbed the agent’s wrists slamming his elbow into the man’s arm to knock the knife to the floor. As Jack got the same hold on Huesyth as the doctor had on him, the taller man kicked the gun away under one of the cabinets.

Jack smeared blood over Huesyth’s shirt as he gripped him, kicking him in the stomach and knocking his hands away as barreled into him, picking him up by the waist and slamming him back into the glass of one of the cupboards, effectively shattering it over Huesyth’s head. Punching at Jack’s revealed head, Huesyth was dragged back from the cabinet to be thrown into the counter. With Jack quickly approaching, Huesyth’s hand wrapped around the handle of a pan which he swung around to slam across Jack's face.

The agent grabbed a hold of Huesyth again and threw him with all his might into the wooden door of one of the cabinets, leaving a splintered hole the size of Huesyth’s head. Scrambling to his feet and breathing heavy, the doctor clashed with the older agent in a flurry of punches and kicks but he still managed to get Jack’s arm wrapped around his neck from behind.

Shouting into the doctor’s ear, Jack smashed them onto the counter again. Through his lack of air and the pain throbbing in his head, Huesyth scrambled for the knife block barely inches from his face until Jack noticed and flipped them around. But that allowed Huesyth to wrap his hand around the heavy salt dispenser and smash it over the side of Jack’s head, his grip faltering and releasing Huesyth.

The agent rose again with the knife that Huesyth had previously knocked out of his hand but the doctor avoided his persistent slashing at the air, pulling Jack’s arm down and kicking the knife away again. Blocking an incoming punch with his arm, Huesyth slammed his own fist across Jack’s face, knocking him to the floor. As the agent tried to pull himself back up, the doctor opened the fridge door and bashed Jack over the head with it.

With Jack momentarily shaken, Huesyth returned to the counter to slide one of the knives out of the knife block. He turned back and had to dodge a fist thrown at his face, two more punches from the agent before Huesyth could reach around to grab him by the throat and throw him back into the counter. Bringing down the knife, it sunk into a cutting board that Jack brought up to block his face from the blade. Huesyth’s lip curled back in a snarl as Jack struggled to keep the knife tip from sinking into his face. Jack pulled back before smashing the cutting board into the side of Huesyth’s head, knocking off balance.

With a shout of effort, Jack swung Huesyth’s body over his head, slamming him into the floor. A hand curled into the back of Huesyth’s shirt collar, yanking him up just enough for a fist to fly into his face. The agent curled his tie around his hands before wrapping it around the doctor’s neck like a garrote wire.

Huesyth writhed and kicked, clawing at his neck with one hand as Jack strangled the life out of him. Trying to throw him off balance until Jack heaved him over his shoulder, lifting the doctor up until his feet didn’t touch the floor anymore, effectively hanging him.

His eyelids fluttered as he tried to focus but soon, Huesyth’s body went limp against Jack’s back. Breathing heavily and his spike of adrenaline fading, Jack slid Huesyth’s body to the ground again with the doctor’s arm slumping loosely to his sides just enough for his hand to reach one of the shards of glass littered across the floor.

He plunged the shard of glass into the agent’s neck who recoiled, stumbling backward into the pantry for an escape and clutching the wound. With the air suddenly returning to him, Huesyth rose again, picking up one of his butcher knives from the counter before bodily throwing his shoulder into the pantry door that Jack had closed after him. Moving back a few feet before rushing and slamming into it again, causing a few splinters to fly off.

 

**TWELVE WEEKS EARLIER**

He sliced thin but generous pieces of the freshly unshelled sea urchin’s flesh, arranging the meat on the clean bones of a fish and adorned it with sauce. The sashimi plate joined plates of water clams and squid, beautifully arranged and garnished with leaves and flowers. He scooped the two plates into each hand, scanning over them to ensure everything was in its proper place before left the kitchen. He entered into the dining room to where Jack sat in wait, a dejected expression resting on his face.

“This course is called mukozuke,” Huesyth explained, placing Jack’s dish in front of him. “Seasonal sashimi. Sea urchin, water clam, and squid.”

“What a beautiful presentation, Doctor,” Jack complimented as he unfolded his napkin.

Huesyth put his own plate onto his place setting, moving around to uncover the bottle of white wine chilling on the side table. “Kaiseki. A Japanese art form that honors the taste and aesthetic of what we eat.”

“Well, I almost feel guilty about eating it,” Jack said as Huesyth returned to pour him an ample amount of the white wine.

“I never feel guilty eating anything,” The doctor expressed as he straightened up.

Jack hummed gratefully as he tasted the sashimi, savoring taste before saying curiously. “I can't quite place the fish.”

“He was a flounder,” Huesyth responded, pouring his own wine and taking a seat across from the older agent. “I last prepared this meal with my aunt and uncle, under similarly unfortunate circumstances.”

“Oh, what circumstances were those?” Jack asked.

“A loss,” Huesyth responded. It wasn’t as much of a loss to him as it was for his Uncle Alessio but his Aunt Hisayo had asked for Huesyth’s help and who was he to say no after all the good they had done for him then. But he could say that he was mourning his brother after his arrest which was far more accurate. “This is a loss... Bec is a loss and we're mourning a death.”

Jack furrowed his brow at the taller man. “Bec’s ‘death’ is on me, not you.”

“It’s on both of us,” The doctor corrected.

This time, the older agent didn’t deny it. With a sigh, Jack slowly shook his head. “I can't stop thinking that Bec may be convicted of five murders while I am only maybe convicted of one.”

“Well, you're not on trial.”

“I will be,” Jack reminded after a short pause. “In the halls of the FBI. And so will you. I mean, according to Bec Reyes, this was all you.”

Huesyth nodded, remembering the way the empath shook behind the barrel of the gun he had pointed at the doctor’s head. The sweat leaking down his face, the fear and betrayal in his dark eyes. He wished he could have held Bec that night and soothed the burning in his brain but what’s been done was done. He couldn’t undo the dominoes he knocked over even if he wanted to.

“Bec was your bloodhound. You can't ignore where he points.”

“I'm not ignoring it,” Jack responded simply but they carried a weight.

The words hung in the air a moment as Huesyth allowed that to sink in and then decided to play along willingly. “You have to investigate me. It's in my best interest, and yours.”

“Yes, it is. But I also can't ignore the fact that my bloodhound went mad _before_ he pointed in your direction.”

Huesyth offered a shrug. “We can't define Bec only by his maddest edges.”

“We can't define Bec _at all_.”

 

_The bright room was quiet except for the gentle notes of the classical music he had playing from the speakers on his phone. Slowly, he rolled his neck, hearing the stiff bones pop and loosen before he bent down to hold the soles of his feet. He worked his way into a split with his feet pointed out at either of his sides, bending his arm of over himself as he stretched from either side to relax his hips._

_Even though he was aging and his body just wasn’t used to his usual strenuous warm up, he still retained the flexibility even if he had to spend more time working his body out. Pulling himself into a standing position, he worked himself from first to the fifth position as his body got used to the strain._

_He couldn’t have been happier than that. Dance and ballet was the one thing he always had to fall back on if jobs in law enforcement didn’t work out. The familiarity of the dance studio that seemed to be a staple of his early life set his mind at ease. But something in the floor to ceiling wall mirror behind him caught his eye. A dark shape that didn’t match the creamy whites and shades of brown that the room was comprised of. He peered over his shoulder and within his own reflection, the black snake was hanging heavily around his shoulders. It met eyes with him in the mirror._

Bec stared straight ahead as he sat shackled inside one of the six tiny, cage-like cells in the shadowy therapy hall. He’ll admit, it was freeing to not have blood rushing down his face every time he tried to escape into his own head. Dr. Chilton was seated in front of the cage, several feet away to avoid the empath if he were to reach through the bars to try and grab at him. Whatever the doctor was saying was garbled and distant but his mouth and hands continued to move.

Bec breathed out deeply before asking softly. “What did you say?”

“I said, how does that make you feel?” Chilton repeated.

He chased the sight of the snake out of his mind and Bec focused on the present, eyes finally moving to look at Chilton instead of through him. “Makes me feel... like…” He paused slightly with another sigh. “Like I'm sitting in a dunking tank and you're lobbing softballs, hoping to make a splash, but you keep missing the target.”

Chilton made a face at the younger man. “Fortunately, I have time for a few more lobs. You are in _my_ hospital. You're my patient now, Bec.”

The empath gave a tight smile, shaking his head. “I'm not talking to you, Frederick. I want to talk to Dr. Cavalli.”

His eyes slipped shut. _The studio came back, the snake missing from his neck as he finally moved into a set of twirling pique turns. His vision seemed to darken, the air growing colder as his turns stopped. His chest rising and falling at a steady pace, he looked out over an empty crowd from his stage top point of view. The only light being the near blinding spotlight bearing down on him._

_A sense of dread may have begun rising in his throat but the empath persisted, giving a quick arch in the penché position before moving into more quick twirls. But as he turned, a cold hand grabbed ahold of Bec’s wrist. The younger man’s face snapped up to be met with the inky, stoic face of the wendigo and its towering antlers. Its pitch black eyes were void of any emotion but, through his fear, Bec could notice small scales reflecting the spotlight on the wendigo’s cheeks. It was only then that Bec realized the towering being didn’t have normal legs and instead, its human, malnourished facade was cut off at the waist and continued down in a thick snake tail for its bottom half._

_The empath looked back up into the wendigo’s eyes and narrowed his in disobedient disdain instead of fear, curling the hand caught in the beast’s grip into a fist._

 

Finishing his quick pace around Bedelia’s home office, Huesyth finally took his seat across from the blonde. There was a pulse of anxiousness racing through his blood and he couldn’t keep still anymore.

“Bec Reyes has asked to see me.” Initially, she said nothing, watching and waiting for him to continue. “I would also like to see him. I continue to be curious about the way he thinks, despite all that's happened.”

“He's still influencing you,” Bedelia reminded. “Bec Reyes asking to see you betrays his clear intent to manipulate you.”

“And if I agree to see Bec?” Huesyth questioned.

“It betrays your clear intent to manipulate _him_.”

But over Bedelia’s right shoulder appeared the cheeky smirk of the empath just discussed, leaning nonchalantly over the back of the blonde’s chair with his shaven face resting in his hand. One of his shoulders was left bare as the silky, red robe he was wearing slipped down to reveal his tan skin. His curling hair fell over the left side of his face in the direction he leaned and his presence went unnoticed by Bedelia. He looked alive and happy and almost glowing.

Huesyth stared at the vision as he spoke next. “I miss him.”

The illusion’s smile softened but it raised a mischievous eyebrow at him.

“You are obsessed with Bec Reyes,” Bedelia expressed.

“I'm intrigued by him,” Huesyth tried to retort.

Both Bedelia and the illusion seemed to expressively disagree. Even his own figment of his imagination was revealing far more truth than it needed to. “ _Obsessively._ And he will take advantage of that obsession.”

“Bec is my friend.”

“Why?” Bedelia questioned. “Why do you think you’re so close?”

He paused as if to rethink his entire answer several times before he finally offered. “He sees his own mentality as grotesque but useful, like a chair of antlers. He can't repress who he is and there's an honesty in that I admire.”

The illusion shrugged slightly in agreement, seemingly satisfied by the answer but Bedelia wasn’t. “I imagine there's an honesty in that you can relate to. What can't _you_ repress, Huesyth?”

He held her gaze until, finally, the glimmer of a smile turned the corners of his mouth.

 

He really didn’t know how long it had been since it had all begun. Apparently, he’d been in the hospital for around two weeks, most of it spent in a medically induced coma for his encephalitis treatments. It felt almost freeing to say that. Encephalitis, a physical problem where half of his brain had basically caught fire, and not the simple answer of just ‘going mad’. He knew that Sofia would have shouted “I told you so!” in his face if he was there when she found out.

Despite the aggressiveness, the thought brought a small smile to his face but the sound of the cell block’s security gate buzzing loudly interrupted the moment of peace. It echoed off the stone walls and brought the empath out of his thoughts.

He opened his eyes to look into the wall across from him when he sat upright over the side of his bed. The gate closed again with a resounding lock and the visitor approaching with a steady footfall that followed it. Slowly, the empath looked to the bars of his cell and the footfalls faded into a low rumbling hiss that grew louder, the harbinger of something horrible. A shadow passed before the fluorescent lights in the hall. Finally, the head of the black snake moved into frame.

“Hello, Bec.”

He looked up from the floor to the doctor’s face as he stood on the other side of the bars, greeting the taller man in a detached way. “Dr. Cavalli.”

“Lost in thought?” Huesyth inquired.

“Not lost. Not anymore,” Bec explained, chuckling softly to himself as he looked away. “I used to hear my thoughts inside my skull with the same, um... tone, timbre, accent as if the words were coming out of my mouth.”

“And now?”

“Now…” Bec started, looking back up at the doctor. “My inner voice sounds like you. I can't get you out of my head.”

“Friendship can sometimes involve a breach of individual separateness.”

The empath would never admit the twinge of pain in his chest at being downgraded from Huesyth’s treasured ‘lover’ to mere ‘friend’. It felt more like a spit in the face. Bec had seen the doctor with his posh friends. How he had interacted with them as if he was on a pedestal above them. How they all seemed to envy him and at the same time scramble desperately for a glimmer of his attention.

There was a time where Bec had laughed with Huesyth atop that pedestal with him. But the love tinted glasses had shattered, leaving behind the bitter ache of betrayal and making Bec feel like the fool who was pregnant with the child of a monster.

“You're not my friend,” Bec retaliated harshly, pulling himself up to stand in the middle of his cell. “The, uh, light from _friendship_ won't reach us for a million years. That's how far away from friendship we are.”

Bec spat the word out of his mouth like it was physically hurting him. He saw something change minutely, for a brief second, on Huesyth’s face before he seemingly corrected it. Bec hoped he had struck a nerve. “I imagine it's easier to believe I am responsible for those murders than it is to accept that you are.”

“Sure is,” Bec played along sarcastically.

“Your inner voice can provide a method of taking control of your behavior. Accepting responsibility for what you've done. Giving your thoughts words encourages clarity.”

“Oh, I have clarity,” Bec seethed softly. “About _you_.”

Huesyth blinked, adjusting his tack. “Our conversations, Bec, were only ever about you opening your eyes to the truth of who you are.”

“What you did to me is still in my head and I _will_ find it,” The empath stepped closer to the bars, closing the distance between him and the taller man. Only a few feet now, but separated by the bars. “I'm going to remember, Dr. Cavalli, and when I do... there will be a reckoning.”

A slight smile spread across Huesyth’s face at that, giving a tiny nod. _Pride_. “I have huge faith in you, Bec. I always have.”

 

She removed the DNA swab from his mouth, moving back over to the work table to bag it with the rest of the particle evidence she had collected.

Huesyth peered over the shorter scientist as she worked, commenting idly. “I'm amazed what falls off the best of us when moving through a room.”

“Lessons learned from cellular decay: Enjoy the world while we have it and give a little bit back,” Beverly expressed.

“When possible, I try to leave an indelible mark wherever I go.”

She gave a small smirk. “Hopefully not with your DNA.”

Huesyth offered a breathy chuckle as she moved over to the separate but connected hair and fiber room where most of his wardrobe was hanging in plastic evidence bags as an agent ran a static comb over them. “How long will you have my suits?”

“You might want to think about supplementing your wardrobe,” Beverly offered.

“I frequently do.”

Beverly smiled, trying to be of some comfort. “You know, this is just a formality. Nobody expects to find anything. Except for maybe Bec Reyes.”

“He'll have to be disappointed. The beauty of what you do, Ms. Katz, is in its certainty. It'll be your evidence that convicts Bec.”

The shorter woman gave an almost unnoticeable wince. “Well, I found enough of it. No need to infer or intuit or trust.”

She walked back into the processing room, Huesyth following casually behind her. “So much simpler than psychiatry. Bec is doing his best to understand where he is and why.”

“You were supposed to protect him,” Not necessarily a jab or meant to be degrading, just a reminder.

“From himself?” Huesyth questioned.

“Yeah. I'm not mad at you. Not any more than I'm mad at myself. We all missed it, whatever it was… _is_.”

“We all are not suspects.”

“You're not a suspect,” Beverly corrected. “You're the new Bec Reyes.”

 

He followed the shorter agent through the mess of tall grass, police officers, and agents. Only distinguishing her out of the crowd of navy blue uniforms from the flow of her long hair over the bright yellow FBI logo on the back of her jacket. She was certainly making herself into quite the threatening player in the game between him and the empath. He’d have to make sure to keep an eye on her. As they move passed the tape into the crime scene, Huesyth spotted Jack overlooking the team of scientists below them in the rushing river, still trying to fish out any more bodies among the rocks.

“Thank you for coming, Dr. Cavalli.”

Huesyth stopped by Jack’s side as the agent turned to him. “Jack, what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you would help me with a psychological profile.”

“We found another body,” Someone shouted from the team below.

With a troubled gaze, Jack gave the taller man a nod to follow him farther down the bridge they were on. “This way, Doctor.”

Huesyth nodded, allowing Beverly and Jack to see him feign a slight unease at the waterlogged, badly decomposed corpses they had lined up on the bridge to take photos of. The smell was ghastly though and his face curled up in disgust as it assaulted his sensitive nose.

When he made it to the last body in the line, Jack explained. “This is the fourth body we've recovered so far. There's at least one more down there.”

“How long have they been here?” Huesyth asked.

“Hard to say, but someone went through a lot of trouble to make sure that they were well preserved. They've been coated in some kind of resin.”

“The big one was partially sealed, rotting from the inside out,” Beverly explained, motioning with her head to one of the bodies on the far end. “The other three look like they were embalmed.”

“Whatever he's doing,” Jack began. “He's still figuring out how to do it.”

Huesyth slowly approached the bodies, observing their odd, lumpy shapes. They were rotting around something. “Were they injected with silicone?”

Beverly crouched down beside the fourth body, poking at the tough, splotchy skin with the end of a tool. “They were injected with something.”

“Silicone?” Jack inquired, curious as to the doctor’s reasons.

“A technique for making resin-coated models out of fish. Helps the body retain shape in death.” The doctor quirked an eyebrow at the bodies. “He's making human models.”

“You make models of things that you want to keep,” Jack reminded, motioning to the corpses. “These were tossed in the river.”

Huesyth shrugged slightly. “Maybe they were imperfect.”

“These are his discards.”

 

The ink pen tip touched the paper, pooling in thin blue lines to spell out Huesyth’s signature across the line. Blowing on the still wet ink, Huesyth handed Bedelia the document he just signed. She glanced over it curiously.

“I'm giving you informed consent to discuss me as your patient,” Huesyth explained.

“With whom?” She asked, expression completely confused.

“Jack Crawford.”

Bedelia stared pointedly, considering the piece of paper before placing the document aside. “Disclosure of patient information should be limited to the requirements of the situation. What is the situation, Huesyth?”

“Bec Reyes made accusations,” The doctor reminded. “Jack's only being thorough.”

Bedelia narrowed her eyes slightly at the taller man. “You're keeping Agent Crawford close.”

“We share an obsession,” Huesyth offered. Bedelia didn’t move her eyes, waiting for him to continue. “I got to be Bec Reyes today. I consulted at an FBI crime scene. I stood in Bec's shoes, looked through his eyes, and I saw death... how I imagined he would see it.”

Minutely, she narrowed her gaze. “Why would you be inviting the scrutiny of the FBI?”

“I'm being as open and honest as I know how to be.”

“You maintain an air of transparency... while putting me in the position to lie for you. _Again._ ”

“You're not just lying for me,” Huesyth said, casually enough as to not portray a threat but Bedelia had started to see through the veneer.

“How far will this flirtation with the FBI go?” Bedelia inquired.

Cocking his head slightly, Huesyth quipped. “It would seem Jack Crawford is less suspicious of me than you are.”

“Jack Crawford doesn't know what you're capable of.”

Faintly, his lips quirked. “Neither do you.”

 

“I’d update you on the status of the snakes but… your sister isn’t returning any of my calls.”

“Yeah, she wouldn’t,” Bec expressed, arms crossed as he paced the cell. “The snakes should be fine with her but it’s best to stay clear of her for now. She’s pissed at anyone and everyone involved.”

“She seems to really care about you,” Alana smiled.

Bec gave a small shrug. “I helped her with an alcohol problem, got her into AA and that’s where she met her wife… She thinks she owes me now but she’s like me and can’t let a sleeping dog lie, I guess. She can’t save everyone and that drives her crazy.”

Alana paused as she listened to him speak. “Maybe not. But someday she might be able to see you again. With the right defense.”

“I don't currently have legal representation,” Bec explained, raising an eyebrow at the woman as she sat in a folding chair on the other side of the bars.

“You keep firing your lawyers,” Alana reminded calmly.

“No, they're the FBI's lawyers.”

“Then I'll find you a lawyer who's not affiliated with the FBI,” Alana offered.

Bec scoffed softly to himself. “What defense do you think I have?”

“Automatism,” Alana answered surely. “Allows a defendant to argue they shouldn't be held criminally liable for their actions due to unconsciousness.”

“Unconsciousness?” Bec repeated.

“Bec... your mind was on _fire_ ,” Alana emphasized, leaning forward where she sat. “You had no control of what you were doing, much less remember doing it.”

“What if I could remember?” The empath cut in. “What if I could remember how this was done to me?”

“What if you could remember how you did it?”

Bec deflated, looking away from the woman as he grumbled. “You believe Huesyth.”

“I believe the Bec Reyes standing in front of me now is incapable of that violence. I believe you lost your mind, and for periods of time, you weren't the Bec Reyes I know.”

_You don’t know me,_ Bec thought bitterly. _None of you tried to know me._

He cut into her spiel again. “I hear Huesyth's voice in the well of my mind. I hear him saying words that he's never said to me. It isn't my imagination. It's... it's something else.”

Slowly, he approached the bars. “Have you ever helped a patient recover memories?”

They moved to one of the dark privacy rooms, Bec being handcuffed and shackled to a bar in the table. Alana sat across from him but the one thing that caught his attention was the bright swinging metronome in front of her. It ticked steadily as it swung and through the steady swing, Alana’s voice came, slow, soft and reassuring.

“Close your eyes,” The empath obeyed and the ticking began to slow. “Feel the heaviness in your limbs...”

His eyes slipped open again and Alana appeared before him but now she seemed coated with tarry black shadow, her hair floating behind her like inky liquid. “Imagine yourself in a safe... and relaxing place...”

Bec watches as the shadow Alana moved closer as if drifting through dark water. “Safe to relax completely…”

She leaned over him, features almost indistinguishable from the dark. “No matter how deeply you go…” She moved forward pressing her forehead against Bec’s only to have the tar of shadow Alana’s form wash over him, engulfing him in black. “...My voice will go with you.”

_He opened his eyes to find himself seated at the head of Huesyth’s dining room table, covered in a sprawling, elaborate feast, meats and fruits overflowing their dishes to cover every available inch of the table top. Some of the meat still moving and pulsating with life. Over the top of some of the towering dishes, Bec could see the black rack of antlers directly across from him at the other end of the table. The wendigo staring blankly back at him with its dark eyes. The empath glanced down, sitting in front of him on his clean white plate was a severed ear, pale from lack of blood and jaggedly torn._

Eyes opening abruptly to break the hypnosis, Bec had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop the rise of bile threatening to leave his throat. He gagged on it, forcing it down again as he choked out. “This… This isn’t working.”

His other hand shot out, stopping the repetitive swing of the metronome. Noticing how visibly shaken he was, Alana asked. “What did you see?”

He didn’t respond, trying to contain his nausea. She reached across the table to hold his shackled hands in her own, earning his gaze. “Bec, what did you see?”

Bec breathed out heavily, not meeting the woman’s eyes until he was able to suck in a few deep breaths to calm himself. He looked up at her, gaze full of fear and confusion.

 

With his leg bouncing impatiently as he grew restlessly bored of waiting, Amaund’s head slumped in his hand. He checked his watch again and started wondering if the receptionist gave him the wrong time for when the agent was supposed to be here. He was about to give up when a suited figure moved around the corner into the hallway he was sitting in. Perking up at the sight, he noticed the pinched, overworked expression on the older man’s face as he moved towards the door to the office Amaund had been waiting outside of.

“Hi there. Are you Special Agent Crawford?” Amaund asked as he stood but the older agent simply passed by him towards the office door.

“I’m not accepting any meetings right now. I’m sorry,” The agent offered, about to slip into the office before Amaund cut him off.

“My name’s Amaund Reyes.”

The agent stopped in his tracks, one foot in the door of his office as he looked back over his shoulder at the taller man. He looked shocked and maybe even a little worried as he maneuvered to stand to face Amaund. “Does that mean what I think that means?”

“Well, it means that I’m Bec’s half-brother,” Amaund shrugged with an unsure smile. “There aren’t any more of us if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The agent hesitated slightly, seemingly taken aback by the civility of the introduction before quietly inviting the other man into his office. The agent dropped the file he’d been carrying onto his desk as he took a seat behind it, Amaund sitting across from him in the guest chairs.

“I, uh, I apologize for my brashness before,” Crawford expressed.

“It’s fine,” Amaund forgave as he ran a hand through his honey-colored hair. “I heard you had a rather… _explosive_ first meeting with my step-sister. You gotta understand that this whole situation has been significantly hard on her.”

“So she’s your step-sister?” Crawford queried.

“Yep. She and I don’t share blood. We do share Bec though. Growing up, we always considered him a happy medium between us if you can believe it. I was always angry and stoic, Sofia wasn’t much better until she got older. Bec was actually the easy one for a while… Even with the sleepwalkin’ and the social skill issues.”

Crawford nodded along in sympathetic understanding before asking. “Ms. Crow has been very involved with your brother’s case. If you don’t mind me asking, is there a reason you’ve been absent?”

“I own a ranch in Nevada,” Amaund explained. “Always try to visit when I can but Sofia and Bec have always been so close. Usually, when there’s a problem, those two always handle each other before they ever call me.”

“It must be a very big problem for you to be here now then.”

Amaund offered another smile, nodding. “It is.”

“Besides the obvious, is there another reason you’ve decided to meet with me today?”

Amaund shrugged, maintaining an air of casualty. “I just wanted to see if you had any information at all that you could give me about Bec’s case. Any updates or other potential suspects?”

Crawford raised an eyebrow at the younger man. “There isn’t much that I can share with you, Mr. Reyes. This is still an open investigation.”

“It’s not that open considering everyone’s already saying that he’s some kind of serial killer or intelligent psychopath.” The agent narrowed his eyes at him and Amaund waved his arms in mock defeat. “Not that any of that will stop me from getting what I need to help him.”

“You do know that I will legally have to arrest you if you begin to hinder this investigation? That won’t be any help to your brother’s case.”

“Then I won’t hinder your investigation, Agent Crawford,” Amaund avowed. “But you can’t ask me to stand by and not at least _try_ to understand what exactly Bec was seeing when his mind was on fire.”

Crawford gave a defeated sigh at the inherently stubborn nature of the three siblings he’d interacted with. “Mr. Reyes, I can’t condone any sort of civilian intervention when it comes to your brother’s case.”

Amaund nodded but continued uninhibited. “Well is there anything you can tell me about this Dr. Cavalli fella that Bec accused of framing him?”

The agent narrowed his eyes again, this time from the out of the blue nature of the question and the fact that Amaund shouldn’t have known Dr. Cavalli’s involvement at all. “How exactly do you know about Dr. Cavalli?”

“He was the psychiatrist you had my brother seeing while he worked for you. You kept him off the record because you kept Bec off record. He’s the psychiatrist that told you Bec was okay to work when he _obviously_ wasn’t. One of his patients was murdered in his office and he killed a man that same day in the same office. A referral patient of his attacked another psychiatrist and then choked on his own tongue,” Amaund raised a questioned eyebrow at the older agent. “Doesn’t sound like a very good doctor if you ask me and you had my brother’s entire life in his hands.”

Crawford seemed bewildered by his knowledge. “How do you know all of this?”

“The patients? All public record. First things, they were me guessing based on the fact that Bec is considered too unstable to be a real FBI agent according to the official FBI screening tests that he took but you basically just confirmed all of my points.”

Crawford leaned forward on his desk, speaking simply. “Dr. Cavalli is _not_ a suspect for these murders.”

“Obviously not considering he was consulting with you at a crime scene today... Just like Bec used to,” Amaund quipped, a rather unhelpful jab, but he sighed softly. “Listen, I’m not trying to make you the bad guy here and if you really think all of these things are coincidence or bad luck then that’s okay. I’m not here to convince you just yet. I’m here to find out why exactly Bec zeroed in on this guy above all others.”

“He wasn’t in his right mind, Mr. Reyes,” Crawford reminded. “We can’t be sure if his accusations against Dr. Cavalli weren’t just a horrible side effect of his encephalitis. The amount of evidence _against_ him is staggering.”

Slowly, Amaund nodded before offering a small, friendly smile. “We all sound crazy, don’t we?” Crawford began to disagree but Amaund cut him off again with a laugh. “It’s okay, you can say it. All of us get freaking nutty when one of us gets in trouble. I’ll give us that much, we are _brutally_ loyal to each other when it matters. We always got each other’s backs even if the world calls us crazy because of it.”

The older agent seemed to be wondering where this was headed and Amaund took in a deep breath through his nose. “I’m telling you now that Bec can see things that others can’t and he saw something in Dr. Cavalli. Something that you can’t ignore, Agent Crawford. I don’t know what it is yet that he wanted us to see but I’ll find out.”

Crawford didn’t take to kindly to that, perceiving it apparently as a threat. “Am I going to have to have you escorted out of the building?”

“No, no. I know my way out,” Amaund waves off, standing from his seat and barely making it to the door before turning back to the agent. “But as I said, Bec doesn’t make these claims lightly. When he pointed Cavalli’s way, he smelled blood in the water. If I were you, I’d take a few steps away from the edge in case the shark comes back for seconds.”

On that grim note, he exited the office before the agent could call security on him.

 

Huesyth entered the dining room, observing Chilton as he stared at the hung painting on one of the walls.

“Salted and ash-baked celeriac with foraged sel fou,” The taller placed one of the plates at Chilton’s place setting. “Frederick, you have tested me. It's rare that I cook a meatless meal.”

“I lost a kidney. I have to watch my protein intake.”

Huesyth placed his own plate at his setting across from Chilton's. “You didn't lose it, Frederick. It was taken from you. I remain impressed with your recovery.”

“One can grow to love beets,” Chilton said sarcastically, leaning his cane against the table as he sat down. “Alana Bloom was visiting with your former patient today.”

“Bec was never my patient.”

“The irony is that he is my patient, but he refuses to speak to me. Makes me feel like I'm fumbling with his head like a freshman pulling at a panty girdle.”

“Bec is going to be a challenge for any psychiatrist,” Huesyth commented, taking a bite of his meal.

“He is so lucid, so perceptive, he's trained in criminal psychology and he is a mass murderer. He's a prize patient. Or should be.”

“How was Dr. Bloom's visit?” Huesyth asked.

“He asked her to hypnotize him so he could recover his memories,” Chilton motioned to the food in his mouth. “This is delicious.”

Huesyth’s interest was piqued. “Was he successful?”

“Only in playing Dr. Bloom,” Chilton deadpanned. “It's sad to see a brilliant psychiatrist fall for such hoary old chestnuts.”

“She wants to believe him,” Huesyth explained. “I do too.”

Chilton looked nearly disappointed at that, plowing on. “You do realize you're his favorite topic of conversation. Huesyth, Huesyth, Huesyth. Not with me, of course, but with everyone else who will listen,” Chilton was digging, teasing, obviously enjoying himself. “He tells everyone that you are a monster.”

Huesyth raised an eyebrow at that. “Well, in that case, you are dining with a psychopathic murderer, Frederick.”

He took up his glass of white wine, smiling, and Frederick followed suit to clink their glasses together.

 

He’s pretty sure it’s night time when he’s brought back to be chained in one of the private rooms. It was hard to tell days from nights anymore as there were barely any windows in the entire hospital. For once, he had no idea who he was supposed to be meeting and dreaded that it was Jack coming to tell him that it was all hopeless.

The door buzzer went off and instead of Jack, Beverly entered. The door closing behind her and locking loudly. She slid into the seat across from him and he greeted her softly. “It's good to see you.”

“Don't know how I feel about seeing you,” Beverly answered honestly, putting her jacket down by her feet. “I'll let you know when I do.”

“Does Jack know you’re here?”

Beverly shook her head. “No, but he shouldn't be surprised.”

“I’m surprised.”

“I'm...compartmentalizing,” She brought up her bag onto her lap. “There are a lot of people missing.”

Slowly, he realized it was professional and not personal, nodding slightly. “Ah. You have the file with you?”

“Yes,” Beverly responded, flipping open the top of her bag to retrieve it.

“And pictures?”

“Yes,” She opened the file, handing him a stack of photos. “The first six bodies were found in the same place. Dumped in a river, caught in a beaver dam.”

Bec observed the first photo of a rotted, partially encased corpse with great unease. “What's he do to 'em?”

“He targets them, follows them home, abducts them, and preserves them.”

He flipped through the offered photos of the bodies. “You want to know how he's choosing them, don't you?”

Beverly shrugged. “I thought you would have some ideas. These are DMV pictures of people who are still missing under similar circumstances from three different states.”

She laid out a bunch of headshots of people still living and it made the nausea in him dwindle. Beverly motioned to the photos. “Tell me what you see.”

Hesitantly, he gathered a handful of the headshots in his hand, flipping through the different face. Not one looking the same as another. Men, women, of all sizes, adult ages, and ethnicities. He concentrated on the faces, gathers them up and fans them on the table. Beverly watched as he began arranging them, sliding the array of images around. Finally, he sits back, the photos arranged in front of him in a rainbow of skin tones from lightest to darkest.

He looked up at her. “It's a color palette.”

 

Beverly had gotten what she wanted, leaving with the dozens of photos she had brought but looking back over her shoulder as the escorted the chained empath back to his cell. It must’ve been later in the evening because the orderly came by with the cart of food, sliding the tray through the food slot in the bars of his cell. Bec accepted it begrudgingly. He sits at his cot-like bed and observed the compartmentalized food and unappetizing looking meat. Struggling to cut the overcooked slab with the plastic knife and fork he was provided with, he hacked off a chunk of it to chew on.

Something clicked and suddenly _he’s back at his home, fading in and out of consciousness as Huesyth layered over him from behind, covered neck to toe in some kind of plastic. The doctor held his head back as a forced a clear tube down his throat. The empath’s eyes rolling back in his head, choking and gagging as the tube reached the end of its length a few inches out of his mouth._

_The gloved hands held his head steady as the doctor used the handle of a wooden spoon to force a severed ear down the tube as far as it would go. The tube was slipped out quickly, Bec almost choking on the rush of air of unobstructed air that entered him. The doctor moved in front of him, rubbing his face gently as his throat worked to swallow._

His spit the rough chunk of meat back out onto the tray, momentarily only seeing the severed ear before he was reminded just where he was.

 

_He stood from his splits, slowly moving back into a bridge before going up into a perfected handstand._

_“Bec?” A voice echoed dimly._

_The empath slipped back onto his feet, searching around the empty studio until he found Jack standing in the mirror alongside his reflection._

Jack waved a hand to gain his attention on the other side of his cell. “Hey, Bec.”

The empath had been standing, fixated on one of the walls of his cell a thousand-yard stare. He gazed over at his old boss. “Hi, Jack.”

The older agent narrowed his eyes slightly ay Bec. “Where were you just now?”

“Somewhere happier than here,” Bec responded with a tight-lipped smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to remind myself of who you once were,” Jack said, approaching the bars but still keeping a distance. “You know, that man whose classroom I walked into months ago.”

“I remember that man,” The empath expressed, voice light but almost distant from the concept of joy. “Memories are all I have. Imagine how nice it is to stumble onto a new one. I was _almost_ certain Huesyth Cavalli did this to me... And it's a funny thing, doubt. I had nothing to prove to myself or... or anyone else that Huesyth was responsible. Not even a memory.”

“You have something now? You've recovered a memory?”

“Yes,” Bec replied with a slight nod.

The expression that took over the other man’s face wasn’t relief though or even surprise that the empath might actually have something to prove his innocence. Jack bowed his head, almost amused but Bec frowned as the agent reminded. “That’s meaningless.”

“Not to _me_ ,” Bec hissed softly, determined as he approached the bars. “He did it so well. I- there... there wasn't an orgy of evidence. There was just enough to convince you that it was me.”

“We investigated your claims about Dr. Cavalli, Bec. _Thoroughly_ ,” Jack explained like that would stop him from spouting his paranoid ramblings. “We went over every fiber of every stitch of clothing. We took his DNA. We took his fingerprints. We found _nothing._ ”

They wouldn’t find anything even if they had looked. If Huesyth even slightly suspected the FBI was onto him then he’d hide everything that he could. He was smart like that but no one else seemed to understand it. What they needed was a warrant and they needed to search his house, his kitchen, and his freezer. “You let the fox into the henhouse.”

“You stood over Cassie Boyle's body in that field and you described _yourself_ to me.”

“No. I described Huesyth Cavalli,” Bec snapped back.

“I can't hear this anymore.”

Through clenched teeth, Bec whispered. “I... I am _not_ the intelligent psychopath you are looking for.”

The older agent made a disappointed sigh through his nose, looking away from his former prodigy now acting like a mad dog trapped in a cage. “You know your brother came to see me the other day.”

Confusedly, Bec’s brow furrowed. “Amaund?”

“He apparently shares the same line of thinking as you. He suspects Dr. Cavalli of accusations that have no evidence of occurring.”

Slowly, the empath shook his head, walking up as close as he dared to the bars of his cell. “If he’s in town, he’s here to investigate. No, no. Amaund’s like all of us. He’s brash and makes quick decisions and he ends up getting hurt. You _cannot_ let him near Huesyth,” Bec begged. “He’ll rip him apart, Jack, if he thinks he’s getting too close.”

Another discouraged look as Jack excused. “Goodbye, Bec.”

He turned and began walking away, out of the empath’s sight.

Bec huffed a dejected sigh, calling after the older agent. “You may not believe me now. You will.”

 

Quietly and almost not moving at all, Huesyth stared across from him at the empty chair in his office. Looking over at the clock on his desk again to find that it was Bec’s usual appointment time. He fidgeted, hand squeezing and releasing his grip on his chair’s armrest.

Another name was scribbled in place of Bec’s and begrudgingly, he gathered himself and buttoned his suit jacket as he pulled himself from his chair. He hesitated before opening the office door to see another person sitting in his waiting room. The man’s head perked up at the movement.

“Mr. Thomas?” Huesyth asked.

The tall man stood, pushing his honey blonde locks out of his face as he smiled tightly and shook the doctor’s hand. “Yeah, yeah. That’s me.”

“Please, come in,” Huesyth offered. The man moved past him into his office and the doctor got a strange sense of deja vu at the familiarity of some of the man’s features. It made something tighten in his chest as he slid the office door shut after them.


	2. “Sakizuke”

“I've lost the plot,” Bec described, voice edging on the brink of a quiver. “I am the unreliable narrator of my own story.”

With looks of utter helplessness for the empath, Alana and Huesyth stood before him on the other side of the cage. Despite the defiance Bec had shown Huesyth during his last visit, he seemed more civil now. Only because he was completely wrung-out with the state of himself, haunted by the snippets of memories his uncooperative mind leaves him. The morning sickness, fatigue and the fact that he only ate when he forced himself to probably didn’t help matters.

“You have an incomplete self. There are pieces of yourself... that you can't see,” Alana explained.

His eyes not leaving the floor, Bec chewed on the words momentarily before muttering. “I'm afraid to see them. I don't know who I am anymore... and I'm afraid.”

“Without remembering, you're seized by something imagined,” Huesyth added.

Bec laughed softly. “I don't know which is worse. Believing _I_ did it... or, um, believing that you did it and... did this to me.”

He finally glanced up at the doctor, eyes beginning to brim with tears before Alana cut in as firmly as she could be. “Huesyth isn't responsible for this, Bec. And neither are you. We have to get to the truth of what happened. It's the only way you can move forward.”

But the empath forced himself to confront the other man despite the overwhelming emotion. “I felt so betrayed by you. Betrayal was the only thing that felt _real_ to me. I... I trusted you. I _needed_ to trust you.”

“And you _can_ trust me,” Huesyth reminded him.

Bec winced, feeling the burn of wanting to believe Huesyth but the memories telling him otherwise. “I am very... I'm v-- I'm very confused.”

“Of course you are,” Alana offered sympathetically. She looked like she wanted to step closer to the cage, hold his hand tightly and muttered that everything would be alright. It was like second nature for her to care so deeply even without the help of Bec’s magnified empathy. She was too soft to be standing next to the monster in Bec’s nightmares.

“Bec, let us help you,” Huesyth pled and his eyes looked honest. “Let _me_ help you.”

The empath’s chest clenched, holding his feelings at bay as he admitted. “I-I... I need your help.”

Finally, he was overcome with the emotion and could no longer hold back the tears that began running down his cheeks. Alana watched through the bars helplessly, but Huesyth seemed curious, eyes sharpening as if trying to look through the cracks of a facade.

The doctors left and the empath was led back to his cell by a guard and nurse, his head hung low, clearly still emotional from the confrontation. The door clanged shut behind him and the guard removed his handcuffs from behind the bars before stepping away. Once the footsteps receded, the weeping ceased almost immediately. The empath wiped off the forced tears from his face as he took a seat on his cot, staring cold and calculating into the stone floor of his cell.

 

The office door opened and it was Bedelia who was waiting patiently on the other side. Her face was strategically blank as she scanned him as if observing a lion moving in its own habitat.

Though taken aback by her presence, Huesyth raised an eyebrow at the woman. “Well, what a pleasant surprise.”

He moved aside and she entered, expression seemingly etched by troubled thoughts that she wanted to keep buried. After closing the door after Bedelia, he motioned to one of the chairs that a patient would usually sit in. “Please. Sit down.”

She doesn’t, instead choosing to explain to him. “I won't be staying long.”

Without retort, Huesyth returned to behind his desk as Bedelia floated a safe distance in front of it. “I'm curious. What couldn't wait until our next session?”

“We don't have a next session,” Bedelia said. Suddenly, Huesyth paused his movements and slowly looked up at the blonde as she continued. “I am no longer your therapist.”

He cocked his head slightly. “May I ask why?”

“I have reached the limit of my efficacy. I don't believe I can help you.”

It was as if she was waiting for some big reaction, for him to scream and get bad like one of their desperate patients. She wanted to prove something right, one of her theories. Wryly, Huesyth asked. “Are you giving me a referral?”

“No,” Bedelia answered, short and clipped. “I am simply ending our patient-psychiatrist relationship.”

Steadily, Huesyth moved around the desk again, towards the blonde. “You’ve tried to end it before.”

At his approach, she took a slow step back, her heels clicking noisily at the sudden movement and stopping once she caught herself doing it but he had already noticed. “I... am grateful for your persistence in engaging me after my attack. However, in light of everything that has happened with Bec Reyes, I have begun to question your actions. Particularly, your past actions with regards to _me_ and my attack.”

“Did you share these questions with Jack Crawford?” Huesyth asked, voice low but keeping a steady calm. One that could be very easily broken if either of them moved too quickly.

“No,” Bedelia breathed, a rare moment of unmasked honesty. “And nor will I. I would look just as guilty as you. But perhaps that is what you intended.”

A sly smile tipped up the corners of his lips as he casually began approaching Bedelia again. “What exactly am I guilty of?”

She kept stepping back as he stalked towards her. “Exactly, I cannot say. I've had to draw a conclusion based on what I glimpsed through the stitching of the person suit that you wear.” The coy smile fell from his face, turning into an unreadable blank expression. The backs of her legs reached the edge of the chaise longue and Bedelia was brought to a halt. Nowhere else to go as he stopped barely a few feet in front of her, towering over her shorter stature. “And the conclusion that I've drawn... is that you are... _dangerous._ ”

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” Huesyth deadpanned.

She studied his expressionless face one last time with mounting concern before whispering. “Please don't come to my home again.” Cautiously, she moved around him, careful as if to not startle whatever beast was sleeping beyond his human veil. “I will see myself out.”

As quickly as she dared, Bedelia moved to the door, hand reaching out to grab the knob when Huesyth finally spoke again. “I'm resuming Bec Reyes's therapy.”

“To what end?” Bedelia asked, turning back to him. “Besides your own.”

“He asked for my help.”

“Then maybe you deserve each other,” She commented, quickly opening the door and leaving without another word.

The door closed heavily behind her, as soon as he was left alone a lightly colored shape caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to his desk to find the young illusion of Bec sitting casually at the desk, his head still resting casually on his hands as he leaned on the desktop with his elbows. A crimson colored, shorter robe wrapped loosely around his body. He smiled cheekily when Huesyth made eye contact with him, leaning back in the big chair to sprawl over the provided space.

Huesyth offered the figment a smile of his own.

 

“His name is Roland Umber,” Jimmy started, introducing the body laid out on the slab in front of them. “Same profile as the other victims. Lived alone, disappeared from home, and a large dose of heroin in his system.”

The body was in near perfect condition had it not been for the silvery cracks that were spider webbing across his skin like broken glass. They stood out like a sore thumb against his dark skin and made him appear even more like a waxen figure meant for display. His cheek was ripped apart however, thick stitching running down the length of his body all torn and jagged.

“This victim wasn't unstrung. He was ripped from his moorings,” Jack described of the torn up puncture wounds littering the man’s body.

“Whatever his imperfection,” Huesyth added. “It was enough to aggravate the killer into tearing him down.”

“He was discarded in a tributary over four hundred miles away from anything that feeds into the dam where the first victims were found,” Beverly cut in.

“Like dandelion seeds, casting bodies in every direction but his own,” Huesyth compared wistfully.

“Very poetic,” Jimmy commented with a smile as he swabbed at the jagged wound on the body’s face.

“The buffeting in the current causes so many post-mortem injuries, it's impossible to tell them from the ones they got, uh, when they were alive,” Brian explained, working his way around Huesyth and as the doctor tried to move out of his way, he bumped back into Beverly accidentally.

“Excuse me,” Beverly muttered as Huesyth stepped away and out of their working area.

“Doctor, join me over here,” Jack offered finally at seeing him struggle. The taller man moved to stand by the agent's side as the scientists continued their work on the body.

“There may be trace evidence preserved in the craquelure,” Huesyth told Jack when they were out of the way.

Jimmy furrowed his brow in confusion at the foreign word. “What?”

“Craquelure. It's French for the cracks that appear on an oil painting as it dries and it becomes rigid with age.” He motioned to the tiny cracks in the resin that ran up and down the length of the body. “Cracks are not always weaknesses. A life lived accrues in the cracks.”

“Could be something in there,” Beverly shrugged as she too scanned the cracks. “Fiber, debris, might help track where the bodies were before they got dumped.”

“What do the victims have in common?” Jack puzzled.

“What if it isn't what they have in common? What if it's what makes them different?” Beverly turned to the table displaying several of the victims’ headshots from the ones found in the dam.

“Each of these people has a slightly different flesh tone. It could be like a color palette.”

The other men in the room stared at Beverly, not quite sure where she was going with it but Huesyth did as he nodded.

“The color of our skin is so often politicized. It would almost be refreshing to see someone revel in the aesthetic for aesthetics' sake. If it weren't so horrific.” The doctor turned and addressed the older agent by his side. “We're supposed to see color, Jack. That may be all this killer has ever seen in his fellow man. Which is why it is so easy for him to do what he does to his victims.”

“Which is why there'll be a lot more bodies on his color palette,” Beverly added, grimly.

“A fascinating insight, Ms. Katz,” Huesyth complemented with a smile. “It’s as if Bec Reyes himself were here in the room.”

The doctor turned back to the body but behind him, he heard Jack scrutinize. “Yes, it is.”

Moments later, Jack drug Beverly out of the room for a private discussion, probably pertaining to how she knew so much that Bec would know. As the other two scientists worked behind him, Huesyth swung the metal arm holding the lit magnifying glass, turning on the light to brighten the intricate cracks.

Across the body, the imaginary Bec stood again, his bare hands resting dangerously close to the body as he leaned on the slab but his demeanor remained carefree as he observed Huesyth. The doctor leaned in, inconspicuously breathing in the scent from the craquelure on the corpse’s chest. The chemical compounds that created the scent taking form in a visual image in his mind. He opened his eyes again to find them standing with the morgue table displaying the corpse, surrounded by acres and acres of corn at all sides. Curiously, the imaginary Bec looked around at the stalks with a raised eyebrow before turning back to Huesyth.

The corn disappeared with the blink of an eye, leaving Huesyth standing up straight in the BAU evidence processing room. He considered the craquelure of the corpse, smiling imperceptibly as Bec did too.

 

He stepped around the offered chair in the therapy room, taking a seat across from the caged empath and toeing the line of tape on the floor in front of him. Chillin had been very clear about the rules and especially about no one getting too close to Bec, no matter how meek he appeared.

“I've been obliged to stay on this side of the light,” Huesyth explained.

But Bec gave a casual shrug, explaining. “Select patients have taken to urinating on the therapists.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at the floor between them, lip curling slightly in disgust. “I would argue drawing a line might encourage a pissing contest.”

“I'm not interested in a pissing contest with you, Dr. Cavalli,” Bec said softly. He motioned to the space before him with his head. “Please, pull up your chair.”

Without hesitation, Huesyth stood up to scoot the chair closer, passed the line so that he was only a few feet from the cage before taking a seat again.

He gave a soft sigh as he settled into the chair again, looking over the empath. “You said the light from friendship wouldn’t reach us for a million years, that's how far away we are. I hope our friendship feels closer today.”

Bec held back a cringe at the word again, unconsciously wrapping one of his arms loosely in front of his stomach. Why did it still hurt so much to hear?

“You’re really not even going to try, are you?” The empath muttered and he watched as Huesyth bristled slightly. “After everything… we’re just friends?”

“It’s how I would describe us before all of this. Yes,” Huesyth replied, cold enough to leave the younger man reeling in anger. He didn’t push though as he saw the guard shifting out of the corner of his eye.

“Friends have a symmetrical relationship,” Bec replied as if Huesyth needed the reminder. From all that’s happened between them, he probably did. “Psychiatrist and patient, that's unbalanced.”

“There is a power differential between psychiatrist and patient... one that I'm well aware of, particularly with my own therapist.”

As he narrowed his eyes slightly, Bec tipped his head to the side. “But we're just having conversations.”

Huesyth gave a tiny smile, a glimpse at the old Bec that he knew so well. “You threatened me with a reckoning.”

“I did,” The empath agreed, not attempting to deny his own anger, unlike Huesyth. “I can't claim unconsciousness on that one.”

“You were searching for something in your head to incriminate me. I can only assume you didn't find it.”

Bec slowly shook his head. “There's not much in there I recognize.”

“Whatever you remember, if you remember at all, will be a distortion of reality. Not the truth of events.”

Oh, but it felt painfully real. The truth of events were that something was going on during those moments of blankness in the empath’s memories and he needed to figure out what. The doctor wasn’t going to help him with that but Bec nodded at Huesyth’s words. “I'm realizing that.”

He didn’t know when it became so easy for him to lie but it was becoming more and more seamless. The doctor stared at the empath, studying his face and body language, inscrutable as to what he saw. “Beverly Katz has come to see you.”

“Yes,” Bec nodded.

“You wouldn't want Alana Bloom to worry about you dwelling on anything morbid in what's to be a time of recovery.”

Bec shrugged unapologetically. “It's the only thing that feels normal anymore… or at least familiar.”

“The violence?” Huesyth questioned.

“The structure of understanding the violence,” The empath corrected. “The… thought process of the violence.”

“You're missing pieces of yourself, Bec. Be careful what you replace them with,” Huesyth warned before leaning forward in his chair to ask. “What did you see in the pictures Beverly brought to you?”

Almost unconsciously, Bec mirrored his posture, leaning forward in his cage to meet gazes with the taller man. “This killer... he's not stringing his victims up. He's _stitching_ them together. Each body is a brushstroke. He's making a human mural.”

Huesyth narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why does he do it?”

“He's missing pieces of himself, too.”

 

“Dr. Cavalli has advised me against dwelling on anything morbid.”

Beverly’s shoulders dropped slightly as she stood on the other side of his cell bars, holding another file of photographs and forensic data. “I know you want to stop these murder just as much as I do.”

“Reasons for stopping multiple murders do readily occur to me,” He hesitated, thinking over what he wanted to ask. “But, um... I'm going to need something in return.”

She stared at him, curious as to what game he was playing. “There are things you don't have. I can talk to the chief of staff.”

Bec snorted softly. “Chilton?”

“He’s being very cooperative,” Beverly tried to interject.

The empath pulled himself up from his bed and flared at the ceiling like he was glaring at Chilton himself. “Of course he is. He loves when I have visitors. Right now, he’s recording every word. He's, uh, gossipy that way.”

Not commenting on Chilton’s lack of professionalism, Beverly firmly questioned. “What do you want, Bec?”

“I'm wondering if you can get me the thing I really want.”

“Try me,” She challenged.

He stepped forward to face here, equal to equal. “I want you to ignore all the evidence against me.”

Beverly scoffed disbelievingly. “You're right. I can't get that.”

The empath nodded because he knew it was a long shot but he continued anyway. “How many colors will this killer add to his box of crayons before his art is finished?”

Beverly sighed in frustration. “Say I ignore the evidence against you, what then?”

“Strike it from your mental record,” Bec asserted, approaching the bars. Apparently too quickly for Beverly’s liking as she took a step back. “Start over. If I'm guilty, you'll find more evidence. If I'm not guilty, you'll maybe find that too.”

She scanned over his face, trying to decipher if he was lying through his teeth or not. Hesitantly, Beverly relented. “All right. I'll keep looking.”

“Good. Give me the file. I'll tell you what I think.”

He slipped his arm between the bars, holding out his hand and Beverly tried to keep the distance between them. Only stepping towards him when her arm wasn’t long enough for him to reach it. Taking the file, he moved back into the cell without bringing up her hesitation.

“Do you mind if I do this privately?”

“Yes,” Beverly interrupted. She pulled out the folding chair that was leaning against the wall and sat down.

He turned away, ripping open the envelope and removing the photos of the corpse they had found, the ripped stitches and torn flesh encased in some type of resin. He focused on the photos, his eyes sliding shut.

_Taking a deep breath, his eyes opened again to find the body laid out in front of him on the morgue slab._

“The skin isn't as discolored as the other victims'. Looks fairly well preserved, all things considered. Why would I throw you away?”

 _He looked back at the folder in his hands, scanning the end that he had ripped open to get to the images. He asked over his shoulder to Beverly._ “Did Roland Umber have priors with substance abuse?”

“He was in an outpatient treatment program for drug addiction,” _Beverly answered, probably seeing him standing away from her in his cell like the madman he was._

“Heroin?”

“Among others.”

 _The empath studied the poor man, dead on the slab._ “He had a high tolerance for opiates. The overdose didn't kill him. He survived what was done to him,” _Bec released an unsteady breath at the images the revelation brought to mind._ “He tore himself free from the stitches. He _ran_.”

 _Through the rising fear, Beverly questioned._ “How did he end up in the water?”

He turned back to her, the morgue disappearing from sight and becoming the unforgiving stone of the hospital walls. “The killer didn't put him there. He'd have put him back in the mural if he caught him.  The other bodies were dumped but Roland Umber got away.”

“Got away from where?” Beverly asked as she stood from her chair.

“This killer, he, um, he needs someplace private to do what he does. A warehouse, a farm, someplace abandoned, upstream from where the body was found. Cose to the water.” He slid the photos back into the file, sticking it through the bars again for Beverly to take.

She accepted the file, offering a genuine. “Thank you.”

Bec nodded to her as he pulled back into his cell. Before the woman could walk away, Bec asked. “I'm curious. What did Huesyth Cavalli have to say about Mr. Umber?”

Pausing, she looked back at him long enough to say. “He thinks the killer tore him down, dumped his body like the others.”

But the empath shook his, not convinced by Huesyth’s play at ignorance. “That may be what he said. It's not necessarily what he thinks.”

 

The grain silos loomed over the sea of corn stalks. The smell of the corn was familiar from under the smell of the body. Huesyth’s clear plastic suit reflected the light from the sun above him. Approaching one of the three silos, he checked inside the opening on its side to find it empty and moved onto the next one. Fresh locks kept the door from being opened and he found the ladder that led up its outer wall.

Turning his gaze upwards, he climbed up the side of the silo and onto the cone-shaped roof. From the opening in the roof of the silo, he looked down upon a single, huge glowering eye made out of the mass grave of bodies that the FBI was looking for. A range of human flesh to make up a mighty painting at the bottom of the silo. The bodies, with there variety of shades and colors, formed the stern and unblinking representation frozen in resin.

Below him, a door rattled open, shining light onto the waxy figures as a man moved into the silo. Stepping carefully over the strategically placed bodies, the man was about to start his next spray of resin when Huesyth spoke.

“Hello,” His words echoed. From the silo floor, the killer startled at the sudden voice, spinning to see Huesyth in his plastic suit, watching from above. With utmost sincerity, Huesyth continued. “I _love_ your work.”

 

A full-blown crime scene, populated by a considerable local and state police presence with FBI personnel mingled among them. Dozens of body bags were lined up on the ground outside of the silo as they brought out corpses one by one. Again, the doctor found himself following after Beverly’s fast steps as he took in the scene around them.

“How did you find this place?” He asked the shorter woman.

“You and Bec Reyes are a good team,” Beverly threw over her shoulder. “You gave us the ‘what’ we were looking for. He gave us the ‘where.’ Corn dust on the craquelure.”

The only thing that stuck out in the sentence was Beverly noticing just how well their minds work together. If only Bec knew it as well.

A smile he could barely hide graced his lips as Huesyth confirmed. “Yes, Bec and I do make a good team.”

“Bec didn't think Roland Umber was discarded like the others. He escaped. We just went upstream from where the body was found until we hit corn.”

As they approached the open hatch, Jack emerged from the silo to greet the other agent. “Hey, Beverly,” Turning his attention to the doctor following after her. “Dr. Cavalli. Follow me, please. You might want to prepare yourself. You've never seen anything like this.”

He was offered a pair of rubber gloves and as he slipped them on, Huesyth nodded and offered the older agent. “I'm sure I haven't.”

Following Jack into the silo, Huesyth found the same display of corpses, partially deconstructed but still enough to strike someone with a horrific sense of awe.

“How could a human being go so bad?” Jack puzzled as he took in the expanse of bodies being pulled apart by the forensic teams.

Huesyth was sure that the FBI agents working the scene were struggling to pull the bodies apart as carefully as they could without destroying them.

“When it comes to nature versus nurture, I choose neither,” The doctor stated as he scanned the room. “We are built from a DNA blueprint and born into a world of scenario and circumstance that we don't control.”

“Praise the mutilated world, huh?” Jack inquired.

Huesyth looked up to the top of the silo, the light shining down through the opening in the roof. “What did it look like from above?”

Sliding it from his jacket pocket, Jack handed him an IPad. Displayed on the screen, a photo revealing the human mural from above just as he had seen it. Very clearly an eye looking to the sky.

“Fascinating,” Huesyth commented.

“Ritual human sacrifice,” Jack stated firmly.

However, Huesyth hypothesized. “I'm not sure if it's an offering, but it's certainly a gesture.”

“To whom?”

The doctor stared up at the light shining down on them as he crouched down beside the bodies. “The eye looks beyond this world into the next and sees the reflection of man himself. Is the killer looking at God?”

“Maybe it's some sick existential crisis,” Jack muttered.

Those were all very possible theories but they were far too simple. Huesyth straightened up. “If it were an existential crisis, I would argue there wouldn't be any reflection in the eye at all.”

“A person who could do this kind of thing... would they be likely to continue doing it?”

“This could be his beginning,” Huesyth explained before shrugging. “Or his end. He may never kill again now that his painting is finished.”

Jack sighed, not pleased with the answer. “You said he doesn't see people. That he sees material.”

“Those in the world around him are a means to an end. He uses them to do what he's driven to do.”

 

That night, the doctor unwrapped the leg that he’d taken from the killer from the butcher’s paper, using a meat saw to separate the foot from the ankle in a single slice. He sawed the remaining length of the leg into medallion sized slices. Flouring the skinned medallions, he added them into a roasting pan with a sprinkle of sea salt and freshly diced vegetables.

Removing them from the oven, he ladles Risotto alla Milanese onto the plate, surrounded by vegetables, sprinkled with herbs and spices and finally crowned with one of the perfectly roasted medallions of human beef. He took his seat at the table, washing down a bite of the ossobuco with a sip of perfectly paired wine.

 

It was odd seeing Beverly and Huesyth standing side by side, his mental personifications of good and evil working together. The bars of the cage put an imaginary barrier between them, however, some form of separation.

“Oh, now you're just taking advantage,” Bec quipped to the both of them. “You're going to burn me out before my trial, and then where will I be? What would Jack say?”

“Jack's excellent administrative instincts are not often tempered by mercy,” Huesyth admitted.

“Clearly.”

“I'm devoting a lot of time to this mural, Bec,” Beverly cut in to get to the root of the matter. “It's hard for me to focus on anything else I've been tasked to do. I could use your help.”

She held out the new crime scene photos, not stepping any closer over the line then she had to, so Bec stood in his cage, the chains around his ankles rattling loudly against the metal walls of the cage. Sticking his arm out through the bars of the cage, Beverly stuck the photos into his hand.

Pulling back beyond the bars, Huesyth began speaking again. “In the 19th century, it was wrongly believed that the last image seen by the eyes of a dying person would be fixed on the retina.” Bec flipped through the photos, pausing momentarily to take in each one before moving to the next until finding an overhead shot of the completed mural, an eye made of bodies. “What would be the last image fixed on this dying eye?”

He studied it before his eyes slid shut and, _through the darkness, he found himself standing amongst the mural of bodies, still holding the photo of the carnage in his hands. Soon, the photo even disappears and the killer turns, taking in the masterpiece._

“I made you pliable. _Molded_ you. Set and sealed you where you lay. This is my design. A dead eye of... vision... and consciousness,” _The killer stared upwards, searching for what the eye saw but couldn’t get past the metal, rusted roof of the silo._ “I am fixed and unseeing... Unless someone else sees me.”

 _Carefully, he stepped over the corpses, scanning over every detail for something that seemed glaringly obvious. A hidden image painted over in the final draft._ “One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesn't belong.”

 _He stopped, staring at the pale body near the middle of the eye, a representation of the reflection of light in the cornea. Cocking his head to the side, he narrowed his eyes at the strange color change, crouching down beside him._ “Who are you? Why are you so different from everyone else? I didn't put you here. You... you are _not_ my design.”

_A clatter from above had him looking up again at the light filtering in from the opening in the roof but instead, he saw the dark image of the wendigo looking down at him from the hole._

_He barely had a second to react before the scene changed. In place of the man in the reflection, Bec found himself naked, his leg missing with his body configured into the opening in the mural. A needle pierced his skin and he looked up from the sutures through his back to the man wielding the needle and thread._

_The familiarity of Huesyth’s form coming through the blur of his drug idled vision gave him an eerie comfort as the doctor spoke. “Killing must feel good to God too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in His image?”_

Coming out of the vision, Beverly and Huesyth watched him intently, waiting for him to draw his conclusions. The empath gathered himself together, feeling the doctor’s eyes watching him closely.

“Uh, the killer is in the mural,” Bec revealed, voice shaky from the vision.

Confusedly, Beverly furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? Literally?”

“I mean, the man you're looking for is sewn into his own mural.” He brought the photo he was holding up, tapping over the image of the pale man in the middle. “This man is your killer.”

“What happened to his leg?” Beverly asked.

Bec shrugged. “Whoever sewed him in took a piece of him. As a trophy.”

Huesyth raised an eyebrow at the empath. “He must have had a friend.”

He narrowed his eyes questioningly at the doctor, sensing the hidden meaning in his words.

 

The next day, he sat waiting in his cage again until the clicking of heels on the stairs signaled the arrival of whoever wanted to speak with him. He looked up to see an older woman he didn’t recognize, short, ashy blonde hair and a determined expression, shadowed by a security guard that escorted her down the stairs. It was someone who he had never met before but she had an air of familiarity with him. She came to a stop near the edge of the square not meant to be passed.

“Bec Reyes,” She placed her briefcase on the ground by her feet before cooly introducing herself. “Kade Purnell. Office of the Inspector General. FBI Oversight.”

He looked the woman up and down, asking. “Am I still an FBI employee? Or is that pending the outcome of my trial?”

“The point of the trial isn't so much whether or not you did it. It's whether or not you knew what you were doing when you did it.”

The empath shrugged, not meeting the woman’s eyes. “Sounds like I'm unemployed.”

“Dr. Bloom is hard at work on your unconsciousness defense,” Kade stated, her voice sounding far nicer than her words.

“Ah, yes, yes,” Bec nodded. “The FBI _made_ me do it.”

“The FBI made you a murderer,” Kade deadpanned. “Yes, that is Dr. Bloom's position. As you can imagine, she's not popular.”

“What’s your position?” Bec questioned as if he had any authority to ask.

“Our point of view is that you were already a murderer,” She stated, studying him through the bars. “The prosecution will paint a picture of you as an intelligent psychopath. You conspired with your neurologist to cultivate an illness that would ultimately be your alibi.”

“And then I killed my neurologist to broom the footprints behind me,” The empath finished, raising an eyebrow at her.

“That's what everyone in the courtroom will hear when you take the stand, _regardless_ of what you say.”

Bec whispered, harshly and sarcastically. “Oh, what's to be done about that?”

“Let's discuss it,” Kade shrugged, folding her arms over her chest as she approached the cage a few steps. “If you plead guilty, you'll spare us all a trial and I personally will see to it that you're comfortable here.”

Finally, he met eyes with the woman. “I’m pleading innocent.”

Kade doesn’t even try to hide her disappointment. “You very publicly lost your mind. Some would argue, theatrically. The prosecution certainly will.”

“All part of the performance,” Bec expressed. “It's just not _my_ performance you're watching.”

“You'll be found guilty and given the federal death penalty. I'm trying to save your life.”

He raised an eyebrow at her again. “I guess I'll have to save my own life.”

 

_The world outside the windows of the studio seemed to be moving in slow motion, the leaves drifting off the branches. The chilly weather outside clashed with the warmth in the studio and for once, Bec wanted to be outside. To feel the chill of the wind against his face again. Or maybe the warmth of the snake room with Tuesday resting on his neck as he cleaned out tanks instead of the cold, unforgiving stone of a cell._

_His mind could only give so much solace from reality and even that was infected by the poison that working for the FBI left with him. He turned to the wall mirrors again, this time fully expecting the sight of the pale, waterlogged bodies trapped in resin that appeared standing in the reflection beyond the glass._

Startling at the sound of the security gate buzzing, Bec was shaken from his daydream. He stood in the middle of his cell, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps until a woman with waves of blonde hair came to a stop in front of his cell.

“I don't know you,” Bec deadpanned, stating the obvious.

“My name... is Bedelia Du Maurier,” She introduced.

The name was familiar. Familiar enough for him to connect to dots over her identity. “You're Huesyth Cavalli's therapist,” Cocking his head to the side, Bec asked. “What's that like?”

She studied him through the bars like she was meeting an old friend after months apart, ignoring his only half serious question. “I've heard so much about you, I feel I almost know you.”

“You don’t,” Bec answered quickly with a shake of his head.

“No, I don't,” Bedelia repeated. “But I understand you better than I thought. I... wanted to meet you before I withdraw.”

“What are you withdrawing from?” Bec asked.

“Social ties.”

He offered her a curious tilt of his head as he questioned. “Well, you're a psychiatrist. Isn't our sense of self a consequence of social ties?”

“They certainly are in your case,” Bedelia quipped. “It may be a small comfort, but I am convinced Huesyth has done what he honestly believes is best for you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, ready to spit venom. “No, that isn't a small comfort. That would be _no_ comfort at all.”

“The traumatized are unpredictable because we know we can survive. You _can_ survive this happening to you.”

Bec furrowed his brow. “Happening _to_ me?”

Slowly, seemingly without thinking, she moved over the white line on the floor, stepping right up to the bars as a nurse shouted at her to move back. The security gate buzzed again as the guards stepped out to stop her. The empath moved to meet her at the barrier and she whispered, so quietly that it was almost just mouthing the words.

“I believe you.”

The nurse and guard approached them as Bec stared at her, a wave of emotion overtaking him as she stepped away and was escorted back down the corridor. His hands trembled as they gripped the bars. He heard the three simple words that he had needed to hear but it seemed to make everything that he suspected true.

That Huesyth really was the killer he thought he was and it wasn’t just his brain projecting onto the closest person in its time of overheating.

Bec fell in love with a monster.

 

In the office above, the lights finally shut off, leaving the street below where Amaund was observing inside his car in shadows. Moments later, a figured stepped out of the building, into one of the parked vehicles nearby, and drove away. The blonde man waited a few moments longer just in case before sliding on the latex gloves and grabbing his bag as he left the car. He pulled his beanie down more, concealing his face in the shadows of the night time until he picked the lock on the outside door. Moving upwards, he found himself at the entrance to the patient exit.

He had learned the layout fairly well over the last few appointments that “Mr. Thomas” had with Dr. Cavalli. The locks were the simple part, older models that people left alone assuming that no one would want to sneak into a psychiatrist’s office. Those people were mostly right but they probably never had to dig up dirt on their half-brother’s possible serial killer ex. Could they really be called ex’s though?

The last lock clicked into place and the door slowly opened to reveal the darkened insides of the doctor’s office. He flipped on his handheld flashlight as he kicked the door shut behind him and immediately stepped over to use his free hand to pick through the papers on top of the desk. Opening the drawers and pulling out the organized stacks of files and notebooks, he found a file that had ‘B. Reyes’ written elegantly on the tab.

He thumbed through it but found a bunch of technical therapy jargon and nothing that would be necessarily damning in saying he was ignoring Bec’s illness. One of the only things that he noticed was a torn out notebook paper with a drawing of a clock face on it, signed at the bottom by Bec. Yanking his camera out of the bag, he took pictures of the papers anyway just in case before tossing the file back into the pile. Amaund’s attention was pulled to one of the notebooks, sliding it from underneath a stack of papers.

Amaund held his flashlight in his mouth as he scanned over the page length notes in the book. Skipping through the pages pertaining to other patients, he found Bec’s old therapy appointment times. The notes on Bec after a few appointments were significantly shorter, only half a page or one and a half which seemed odd. He snapped shots of each of the entries until they abruptly stopped, replaced with “H. Thomas”. Curiosity getting the better of him, he quickly scanned over the entry that describes Amaund’s ‘noticeably deflective personality’.

Snapping the book closed with an offended huff, Amaund slid it back into place under the pile. He was about ready to call it a night before he started getting greedy, pulling out another book that had been still resting in one of the drawers. He flipped through it to find out it was a week by week schedule, probably one he didn’t follow very closely seeing as the doctor spent so much time consulting with the FBI. One thing seemed to be repeated however each week, every Thursday was marked with ‘Lunch with Delmar’.

Something slid out of the back of the schedule, fluttering to the floor by Amaund’s boot. The blonde leaned down to pick up a business card, flipping it around in his hand to read the logo ‘Washington D.C. Boxing Club’ printed above an address and phone number. It was an unconscious decision to pocket the card and close the schedule. He reorganized everything how he found it, slipping them back into the desk. He tried to make it seem like he was never there and locked the door behind him on his way out of the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	3. “Hassun”

_ He could feel a bead of nervous sweat making its way down the side of his face but with a heavy swallow, the empath straightened up. _

_ The hands of the clock on the prison execution chamber wall ran backward as Bec, clad in a suit, stood stone-faced in front of a man. The prisoner was strapped down to the electric chair in a blue jumpsuit with a leather mask obscuring his face. Smoke retracted back between the cracks in the leather as time ran backward, the body convulsed again before slowing and relaxing. The man taking deep breaths out of the gaps, sucking the mask in and out. One of the jailers stepped forward to remove the leather mask and reveal another Bec was strapped to the chair. _

_ Suddenly, time slowed and started up again as Bec stared into the eyes of his double, vision now unobscured by the mask. The clock struck midnight and, without hesitation, his suited double strode forward and threw up the wall-mounted power lever with a resounding clang. Electricity surged into him again, sparks flying around his head and burning his skin as his body convulsed, smoke billowing up into his eyes as the material of his jumpsuit burned. But his double still watched with an almost hateful expression until a voice came through the pain. _

“Mr. Reyes, it’s time.”

His eyes opened and he stared into the stone ceiling of his cell. Pulling himself up into a sitting position on his bed, a nurse stood outside his cell with a formal suit wrapped in plastic in hand.

The empath dressed quickly in the rented suit he was given. To the orderlies, he wasn’t showing any noticeable signs of pregnancy but he could notice the change in the fact that his abs seemed to have softened already. Bec was almost positive that he shouldn’t have been showing yet considering he was still early but that didn’t mean that he was going to be telling the medics any time soon. Even thinking of Chilton finding out about it made him sick to his stomach.

He pulled on the suit jacket last, buttoning it up and running his hands over his face with a soft sigh. When he was done, the security guard slapped the handcuffs on his wrists.

 

“...Let me tell you the story of a mild-mannered FBI instructor who was asked to create a psychological profile of a murderer,” The prosecutor, Marion Vega, with her strong, charismatic voice began. She moved around the court like she owned the place, the floor was all hers. “Garret Jacob Hobbs, the Minnesota Shrike. He killed young women that looked just like his daughter, Abigail. He killed them and he ate them.”

Vega paused only briefly to look at the empath, chained in his chair with his new attorney by his side. “Bec Reyes understood the way Hobbs thought. That's how he caught him. He shot Hobbs dead after he cut his daughter's throat. So, Bec Reyes was able to save Abigail Hobbs' life.  _ But  _ the profile that he created of her father was so vivid that he couldn't escape it.”

Hobbs’ voice and the accompanying snake hissed in his ear, “ _ See.  _ **_See_ ** **.** ” His flinch was less noticeable, he was getting used to the voices.

“And in a state of unconsciousness... he killed four more women.”

With the remote to the projector, the prosecutor flipped it on, the lights in the court dimming as the images of each of his suspected victims’ bodies passed over the screen. “Cassie Boyle. Marissa Schuur. Georgia Madchen. Abigail Hobbs.”

Bec looked up, instead of a picture of a body, they had a smiling photo of Abigail, her father cropped out but his arm still wrapped protectively around her shoulders. He was pulled back from his thoughts when Vega continued. “He was able to save Abigail Hobbs from her father, but he wasn't able to save her from himself. He killed her and he ate her just like her father was going to do. Or at the very least, he ate her ear.”

The image changed to a ghastly photo of the bloody, severed ear and Bec’s guts twisted with sickness.

“What happened to the rest of Abigail Hobbs is locked away in the recesses of Bec Reyes's traumatized mind, or so he would have you believe,” Vega shrugged, moving away from the projector to stand in front of Bec’s table. Their eyes met, brief but piercing, and the empath narrowed his gaze at her but Vega didn’t flinch. “Something else you should know about Bec Reyes is that he has a remarkable visual memory. He's keenly insightful to the human condition, and... I would argue, he is the smartest person in this room. He's capable of creating a psychological profile of a completely different kind of murderer. One that would become his alibi.”

 

It wasn’t long before Jack sat on the stand with Vega in front of him but his eyes kept going to Bec and the empath for once doesn’t look away. He looked uneasy with the situation much like Bec was.

“How did you meet Bec Reyes?” Vega asked first.

“I met him at the opening of the Evil Minds Research Museum,” Jack answered, truthful and brief. “He didn't agree with what we had decided to call it. He told me that the title mythologized banal and cruel men who didn't deserve to be thought of as supervillains.”

“And what was your first impression?”

“That he was intelligent,” Jack described but he averted his eyes briefly. “And arrogant and very likely on the spectrum.”

“Which is why he wasn't real FBI. He didn't pass the screening procedures,” Vega reminded, not really a question but no one spoke up about it.

Stiffly, Jack nodded. “Yes.”

She gestured with her hand to the older agent before her. “But you felt that he was qualified to work in the field.”

“Under my supervision.”

The empath blinked at the older agent’s reasoning because he never heard it phrased like that. And  _ he _ was supposed to be the arrogant one?

“And you believed that he was valuable because he could think like a killer?” Vega questioned as she approached Jack.

“He could think like anybody he wanted to.”

“Now that sounds like something a supervillain could do,” She commented before motioning to the table with bags of evidence strewn across it. Instead of question Jack again, Vega more or less addressed the jury themselves. “Five horrendous murders, over forty different pieces of forensic and physical evidence that tells us that the reason Bec Reyes can think like a killer is because he  _ is _ one. Rather than feel tormented by the work he did, Bec Reyes enjoyed the cover his role at the FBI gave him to commit his terrible crimes.”

There was a pause and a quiet murmur from the gallery that had Bec sighing softly. Jack looked to someone in the audience behind the empath and then to Bec before speaking. “I don't believe that to be true.”

Vega turned back to Jack, thrown off guard. “Agent Crawford?”

Confusedly, Bec raised an eyebrow at him for his boldness but that was the agent’s moment of truth, uninhibited by the muzzle of the FBI. “Bec hated every second of the work. He  _ hated _ it. He didn't fake that. He hated it and I kept making him do it.”

Getting noticeably upset with the sudden outburst, Vega approached Jack again to snap. “Why then did he refuse when you offered him an opportunity to quit?”

Firmly, Jack shot back at her. “Because he was  _ saving lives _ . I had been warned by more than one person that if I pushed Bec, I'd break him. I put those checks and balances in place, then ignored them. And here we are.”

In the gallery, someone rose from their seat and Bec caught Kade Purnell’s back as she stormed out of the courtroom in a huff.

The courtroom cleared soon after Jack’s testimony, leaving Bec with his cocksure lawyer, Leonard Brauer. Unlike everyone else in Bec’s life at the time, he seemed completely unfazed by the violence of his alleged crimes and as he packed his briefcase, he asked over to the chained empath. “What does Jack Crawford drink? Whatever it is, I need to send him a very expensive bottle of it.”

Bec, however, was less impressed by the older agent’s outburst. “He said I'm a killer because he drove me insane.”

“No, he paved the road for your defense,” Brauer retorted, so sure of himself.

The empath scoffed. “Well, he didn't say I'm innocent.”

Brauer shook his head, ever the pragmatist that he was. “Innocence isn't a verdict, Mr. Reyes, but ‘not guilty’ is. This isn't law, it's advertising.”

“Advertising trivializes. It, uh... manipulates. It's  _ vulgar _ .”

“Boo-hoo. So is the law,” Brauer mocked, taking a seat again and leaning into Bec’s space even as the empath withdrew. “We have to create desire to find you ‘not guilty,’ which is nonexistent in this courtroom right now. We're manipulating people into buying something they don't need.”

“Mr. Brauer?” Someone asked from his side.

He turned to them, accepting an envelope with his name written across it. “They don't want your innocence. Unconsciousness in a pretty package, now  _ that  _ I can sell.”

He ripped open the end of the envelope to remove another, tossing the first aside as he opened the next. “If I take the moral high ground with you, I'll get you killed.”

Brauer tipped the envelope and flakes of dried blood rained out of it onto his legal pad, both of their faces fell before a human ear toppled out of the package as well. Gray and speckled with dry blood.

The two men stared at the contents for a pause until Brauer quipped, almost unphased. “Um… I think I opened your mail.”

 

“...shrunken capillaries. The ear was cut from a corpse no more than forty-eight hours ago,” Brian explained as he motioned to the dish containing another severed ear. One that had nothing to do with Abigail or any of the other victims pinned on Bec, but it was delivered to his lawyer. A sign of some kind or maybe a warning.

“Before the trial started,” Beverly acknowledged.

“We fumed it all,” Jimmy added as he nodded. “Ear's clean, no prints on either of the envelopes, besides the courier, paralegal, and lawyer.”

Beverly confirmed with a shrug. “We know Bec Reyes didn't do it.”

“It wouldn't surprise me,” Brian muttered, leaning back in his chair but earning a disappointed look from the female scientist next to him.

“The timing's deliberate,” Jack stated, finally breaking his long stretch of silence as the scientists basically talked at him. “It was choreographed to drop the ear at the beginning of Bec’s trial.”

Huesyth stared at the ear in fascination. “Such a gift has great significance.”

“A gift from who?” Jack asked.

“Bec claimed someone else committed the crimes he's accused of.”

All of the eyes in the room turned to face him then, the fast scrutiny causing him to look confusedly between them before he landed on Jack.

“He said that person was you,” The older agent reminded with a quirked brow.

With quick recovery, the doctor shrugged slightly. “Perhaps he was half right.”

The people around the table all stared at each other in contemplation at the information discovered, except for Brian who looked between the others and threw his arms up in frustration, blurting out. “Oh, you've gotta be kidding me.”

 

“It seems you have an admirer, Bec,” Huesyth commented.

That was certainly one way to put it. A much kinder way, certainly. On the other side of the cell bars, the empath gave him a disbelieving expression. “You think someone sent me a severed ear because they admire me?”

“The boundaries of what's considered normal are getting narrower. Outside those boundaries, this may be intended as a helpful gesture.”

Narrowing his eyes at the other man, Bec questioned carefully. “How far would you go to help me?”

Just barely, Huesyth’s lip quirked at the corner. An almost shy expression that led into a slight shrug of his shoulder. “It hadn't occurred to me to send you an ear. But I'm grateful that someone has.”

“Gratitude has a short half-life,” Bec muttered pessimistically.

“So can doubt,” Huesyth retorted with a bit of bite. “I have new thoughts about who you really are. There may very well be another killer.”

Finally, his eyes raised to meet Huesyth’s and he mumbled softly. “I want there to be… With all of my ability, I still can’t imagine a life in this cell.”

The doctor just barely tilted his head as he observed the shorter man. “Some part of you still suspects me.”

With a frustrated sigh, Bec’s head dropped into his hands briefly. “I don't know what anyone is capable of anymore, least of all myself. But, um... I know there is no evidence against you.”

“There never was,” Huesyth clipped.

“And accusing you makes me look even more insane than I already do.” Slowly, the empath shook his head. “I'm not insane. Not anymore.”

“And you may not be guilty,” Cautiously, Huesyth moved closer to the bars, just enough to not get yelled at by the guards. “The ear you were sent is an opportunity. If someone else is actually responsible for your crimes, perhaps he now wants to be seen.”

“Why would he want to be seen now?” Bec puzzled.

There was a pause from the other man and Bec could almost see how he was carefully calculating his next words. Then, he expressed. “Because he cares about what happens to you.”

 

“The prosecution calls Freddie Lounds to the stand.” Bec couldn’t help the soft exasperated sigh that left him when he heard the courtroom doors open behind him. The click of heels followed, moving down the aisle until the redhead herself stepped into view to stand at the witness stand.

She placed her hand on the Bible offered to her. “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.”

A part of Freddie’s face was shadowed by the big hat that she was wearing but she sat patiently at the stand, awaiting Vega’s questions.

Calmly, Vega approached her, a face of inscrutable emotion as she looked over the journalist, and finally asked. “Could you please describe your relationship with Abigail Hobbs?”

“We were very close,” Freddie answered. “I was helping her write a book about surviving her father.”

“Did you ever discuss Bec Reyes with Abigail?”

“Abigail told me she believed Bec Reyes wanted to kill her and cannibalize her like her father wanted to do,” Freddie lamented, her voice going slightly watery. There wasn’t a doubt in Bec’s mind that she cared about Abigail. Cared enough to lie on the stand to ensure the person she thought was responsible for Abigail’s death went away forever. But he silently wished she would direct her energy in towards the person who actually killed her. “She was right. I should've listened to her.”

“Do you blame yourself for her death?” Vega questioned.

“I blame Bec Reyes,” The redhead wiped her eyes, staring the empath down.

“Thank you,” Vega ended, turning to Brauer as she moved to sit back down. “Your witness.”

With an air of total casualty, Brauer stood from his chair, not moving from behind the table. “Miss Lounds, could you please... remind me how many times you've been sued for libel?”

She blinked twice like a deer in the headlights. Freddie hesitated, taken aback before answering softly. “Six.”

“Sorry?” Brauer pressed.

Freddie leaned closer to the microphone in front of her, repeating. “Six.”

“Six,” Brauer said. The empath could see a slight smirk on the lawyer’s face. “And how many times did you settle?”

She nodded slightly before relenting. “Six.”

“Six. Thank you. Nothing further,” Brauer sat back down.

 

The interior of the bailiff's home was scorched, the walls peeling from the heat of the explosion set off. But even the burns couldn’t hide what was done to the body impaled on the rack of a huge stag’s head, his face carved in a deep Glasgow smile with his right ear missing. Work lights illuminated the corpse as the scientists and fire crew worked around it to find the source of the fire.

“They wanted to give us a warm welcome to make sure we found something,” Jack commented as Huesyth followed him into the living room where the bailiff was. From what he’d been told, apparently, this man took the knife supposedly used by Bec to cut off Abigail’s ear.

“An arresting piece of theater,” Huesyth muttered as he took in the scene.

Brian stood from where he’d been observing the melted material of the bailiff’s uniform. “Our bailiff was mounted on a stag's head. Glasgow smile. Killer lopped off his ear and set him on fire. All of Bec Reyes's greatest hits.”

With a shake of his head, Jack furrowed his brow at the state of the room. “Could we have been that wrong?”

“About Bec Reyes? No,” Brian chided. “We could not. He practically took selfies with his victims.”

He let that little comment slide as Huesyth was beginning to get used to Brian’s loose tongue when it came to how strongly negative he was about Bec. The doctor watched the proceedings between the scientists and Jack like a polite dinner guest witnessing a family argument, but not engaging in it.

“The evidence we found was immediate and almost presentational,” Beverly cut in as if it was obvious. It seemed that she had been trying to subtly hint at that exact same thought for a while and finally thought enough was enough. The attention of the men around her all snapping to her direction. “May as well have been gift-wrapped.”

“That's what Bec said about Cassie Boyle when we found her in that field. ‘Field kabuki’,” Jack remembered.

Beverly firmly pressed. “There was no evidence before Bec was apprehended and there hasn't been any since.”

“He  _ ate  _ a girl's ear!” Brian argued to the woman, staring at her like she was a mad woman. “It was in his stomach. God knows what else of her was in there.”

Disappointedly, Jimmy shook his head. “We should've taken a stool sample.”

“ _ Yes!  _ We should have.”

“Well, why didn't we?” Jimmy questioned. “I was the one that said we should have.”

The voices of the men overlapped and Jack finally barked out as the two began talking over each other. “Knock it off.”

It was his opening to speak up and Huesyth moved closer, addressing the older agent. “Jack, what impact could this have on Bec's trial?”

At the same time, they looked back to the scorched body at the center of the room.

 

“Bec Reyes manifests publicly as an introverted personality. He would like us all to believe he places on the spectrum somewhere near Asperger's and autism. Yet, he also _ claims  _ an empathy disorder.”

The sound of Chilton’s voice grated on the empath’s nerves, he’d listened to the doctor’s voice for weeks and it was driving him to want to stab himself in the eye with the plastic utensils he was given at the hospital. Listening to him lie his way through his testimony much like Freddie did wasn’t helping anything either.

“You choose your words very carefully, Dr. Chilton,” Vega noticed. “You chose the word ‘claims’.”

A thin smirk made its way to Chilton’s face, one that was so very self-absorbed. “Bec Reyes has never been officially diagnosed. He will not allow anyone to test him. He has carefully constructed a persona to hide his real nature from the world. He wears it so well that even Jack Crawford could not see past it.”

Most of his childhood was testing, the only reason it stopped was that he was through with the excuses and half-assed diagnoses. None of it stuck because none of the therapists were ever sure with his empathy.

“But you did?” Vega asked, feigning an air of curiosity.

“Mr. Reyes and I had no personal relationship for him to manipulate,” Chilton claimed, looking passed the prosecutor to Bec. “I have objectively examined him and the crimes of which he is accused. These murders were measured and controlled. The confused man Bec Reyes presents to the world could not have committed these crimes because that man is a fiction.”

“So, you discount the encephalitis he was suffering as a cause?”

“He managed his illness with the help of his neurologist,” Chilton claimed. “Whom he later murdered for his trouble.”

Slowly, Vega took a step nearer to Chilton where he sat high on the witness stand to ask. “Is Bec Reyes an intelligent psychopath?”

“There is not yet a name for whatever Bec Reyes is. He kills methodically, and I believe would kill again, given the opportunity.”

Content with the answers, Vega nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Chilton. Your witness.”

The prosecutor sat and Brauer stood, this time walking around the table to address the doctor. “Dr. Chilton, Bec Reyes spent his time catching murderers for the FBI. You don't see a contradiction between that and your description of a cold-blooded killer?”

“No, I do not. Bec Reyes is driven by vanity and his own whims,” Chilton argued, playing idly with the handle of his cane. “He has a very high opinion of his own intelligence. Ergo, he caught the other killers simply to prove he was smarter than all of them too. To him, saving lives is just as arousing as ending them. He likes to play God.”

Bec could almost feel the smile that spread across Chilton’s face, sure of his damning testimony. He knew that Chilton was staring a hole into him but the empath kept his face passive and his eyes turned to the window, watching the world pass by.

 

The buzzer on the door rang out before it opened, Huesyth entering the private room and calmly sitting across from the empath. He opened the file he had before sliding an image across the table to Bec’s shackled hands. A wide shot of a burned body skewered on a large stag head in a charred house.

For a moment, Bec looked at it then up to Huesyth. “My admirer?”

“Yes,” Huesyth nodded, before sliding another piece of paper across the table. “The forensic report from the crime scene. What do you see?”

With the chains rattling loudly, Bec took the report in hand, scanning over it quickly before dropping it back to the table and taking up the crime scene photo again. That was where he’d get most of the information he needed to form the profile.

With a soft exhale, the pendulum swung behind his eyes.

_ He waited in the shadows of the room, admiring the stag’s head he had placed in the center of the room. Distantly, the front door rattled open, the lights flickering on as the bailiff entered in his uniform. He spotted the killer standing in the corner of the room but didn’t scream or panic. A spark of familiarity passed over the bailiff’s eyes. They knew each other. _

_ The bailiff saw the stag’s head and turned his confused expression up to the killer again but before he could speak-  _ “I shoot Mr. Sykes once, collapsing lungs, tearing through his heart's aorta and pulmonary arteries.”

_ The killer stepped towards the man and raised a silenced handgun into view, shooting the bailiff square in the chest. _

“He will die believing we were friends. It is his last thought.”

_ The bailiff’s face fell in shock as blood bloomed on the chest of his uniform but as he fell the killer grabbed ahold of him. He lifted him bodily through the air before slamming him down onto the sharp spears of the stag head’s antlers. Impaling him through, the antlers burst brutally through the man’s chest. _

“His death isn't personal.”

_ The killer’s gloved hand reached into the evidence bag, removing Bec’s knife and hovering over the dead bailiff. His face knotted up in effort as he etched the deep, bloody Glasgow smile into his cheeks. _

“He is merely the ink from which flows my poem.”

_ Hacking off the right ear with little to no ceremony, he tossed the knife aside as blood ran into the carpet at his feet. He dropped the ear into the same bag he retrieved the knife from and sealed it up again. _

“My tribute. This is my design.”

_ The killer looked down, admiring his work _ before Bec pulled himself back to reality. His eyes went up to the doctor sitting across from him again.“It isn’t the same killer. He murdered his victim first and then mutilated him. Cassie Boyle's lungs were removed when she was still breathing. Georgia Madchen was burned alive. What I- wha... what I found of Abigail was cut off while her heart was beating.”

“Then this... is blunt reproduction?” Huesyth offered curiously but Bec could tell when the doctor was hiding something. Sometimes his face just said it too loud for the empath not to catch it.

“You knew that already,” Bec retaliated.

Huesyth seemed slightly taken aback at the call out, eyes averting. “Would've liked to have been wrong.”

“Occam's broom. You intentionally ignored facts that refute your argument hoping that nobody would notice.”

“But you noticed. You always do,” Huesyth reminded. “I wanted to dispel your doubts once and for all.”

“My doubts about what?” Bec questioned, genuinely confused by the sudden tenderness the doctor was showing him.

“Me,” Huesyth said simply and it took everything in Bec to not react. “I want you to believe in the best of me, just as I believe in the best of you.” He looked down at the photo and the report. “This crime offered us both reasonable doubt.”

“It offered us a distraction from the truth,” Bec huffed out.

“Maybe this acolyte is giving you your path to freedom. Even Jack is ready to believe, Bec.”

He raised an eyebrow at the doctor across from him, slowly sitting up straighter in his seat. “It would be a lie.”

Huesyth looked down at the chains binding the empath to the table, seemingly fighting with his own emotions. It was strange seeing the doctor so unsure about his own words. Softly, Huesyth fumed. “I don't want you to be here.”

“I don't want me to be here either,” Bec shot back, just as quiet but far more tense.

“Then you have a choice. This killer wrote you a poem.” The doctor met eyes with him across the table. “Are you going to let his love go to waste?”

The word sounded so  _ wrong _ on Huesyth’s lips but he would never admit the swell in his chest at the softness of the question. He shouldn’t have even considered it but he sighed softly, relenting.

 

“I'm confused,” Alana stated, sitting across from Bec in the same place Huesyth was before but with his lawyer shadowing her from behind. “You're going to abandon your defense strategy, the entire case that you've built,  _ mid-trial _ ?”

“Exciting, isn't it?” Brauer commented, completely void of emotion.

With a huff at his lack of reaction, Alana snapped over her shoulder. “And this seems reasonable to you?”

“It's not only reasonable. It's fashionable.” Brauer moved from where he’d been standing against the wall to sit next to Alana. “There's a killer on the loose, demonstrating all the hallmarks of Bec Reyes's alleged murders.”

“Do you think this killer committed the crimes that you're accused of?” Alana asked the empath.

“Don't answer that,” Brauer cut in before Bec could even open his mouth. “Not in front of me. It's inconsequential.”

She turned to the lawyer and demanded. “But is it true?”

The lawyer raised an eyebrow at the woman and Bec could tell that he was about to regret ever clueing either of them in on the new plan. “You're being awfully high and mighty, Dr. Bloom. Very ivory tower, very reductive. Very far from the _ point _ , which is the exoneration of your friend, Bec Reyes.”

“And the point you're trying to make is reasonable doubt,” Alana chided.

Bec looked away from the two as they argued over him, going back to staring at the window.

“That's a win, yes.”

“The best you can hope for is a mistrial,” Alana quickly countered.

But Brauer repeated. “That's also a win.”

She turned to the empath again to try and reason with him. “You won't be able to plead unconsciousness again.”

“Your fast, triumphant diagnosis of unconsciousness  _ was _ the best play we had,” Brauer added as if to appease her. “Now we have a better play. Needless to say, I won't be calling you to the witness stand.”

Though still obviously upset, Alana took that in stride but still asked. “Who's taking the stand in my place?”

Before he could answer heavy knocks came from the glass of the privacy room door, the buzzer sounding off. With all eyes going to the sound, the door opened and a guard moved in. “Mr. Reyes, you have another visitor.”

The guard stepped aside and Bec’s face finally dropped from the expressionless facade he’d been holding onto, melting into relief at the familiarity of Sofia emerging from behind the guard.

“Sofia,” Bec breathed.

Sofia took one look at the other two in the room and raised a disapproving eyebrow at them, scowling. Alana stood immediately upon recognizing her, opening her mouth to address her but once she looked back to Bec, the empath quickly shook his head. When dismissed, Brauer was basically dragged out by Alana, the door slamming shut after them and leaving the siblings alone.

Sofia’s shoulders seemed to droop as soon as the others left, her face uncurling from the scowl as she dropped herself into one of the chairs across from her brother.

“You look terrible,” Bec deadpanned before they both broke out into a fit of tired giggles.

“You’re not doing much better yourself,” Sofia shot back as she regained herself.

Bec shrugged with an easy-going smile. “Been a hard few weeks.”

That seemed to sober up the mood in the room as Sofia asked. “How’s the trial going?”

“I honestly have no idea. Right now it doesn’t seem so good but… my scummy lawyer has a plan,” Bec explained, earning a breathy scoff from his sister. “You know, you can come to the trial if you want to.”

“I’ll try to choke out the prosecutor,” Sofia answered, brutally honest as always. “I can’t just sit quietly in a room and let them call you a monster and lie to the judge.”

The empath went momentarily quietly, eyes watching the shadows moving on the metal table between them before he finally asked. “Do you think I’m capable of this?”

She seemed caught off guard by the question but she sighed softly with a shake of her head. “At the beginning of all of this, I’d stay up at night and just replay it all in my head. Trying to find a way to decipher where  _ I  _ went wrong that led to this… I wanted to believe you above all others.”

Swallowing heavily, Bec pressed. “And what did you decide? What did your mind tell you?”

She looked up at him, making full eye contact as her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Nothing. It told me nothing… because I’m so blinded by the fact that you’re my brother that I can’t think rationally about you. I love you and I think I know you. But I don’t know if I actually do.”

It broke his heart and he had to swallow back the urge to start crying. “I… I never lied to you, Sof. I didn’t kill them.”

She nodded slightly. “I know. You didn’t kill them. I’m at least sure about that.”

“I guess it’s for the best then,” Bec decided before asking. “Have you talked to Amaund at all?”

Sofia rolled her eyes so hard at the mention of his name that they nearly went back into her head. “He hasn’t talked to me since he got into town. He could be at the bottom of a ditch right now and I wouldn’t know. Apparently, he went to see Agent Crawford though because I got a strongly worded voicemail from the FBI telling me to basically tell Amaund to piss off.”

He could understand her frustration but it was overshadowed by his worry that Amaund bit off more than he could chew. “Can you try to get in contact with him? He’s messing around with things he doesn’t understand.”

“I’ve tried but you know how weird he gets when he works on cases. He goes into his own little dimension.”

Bec laughed softly. “Yeah, he’s pretty dramatic.”

“He’s a dick,” Sofia spat, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “Speaking of, I’ve been trying to call in to check visiting times but I’m pretty sure the administrator has resorted to blocking my number.”

“Dr. Chilton,” Bec named with a sigh. “He’s not my biggest fan. He bashed me on the stand the other day.”

“Should I kick his ass on my way out?” Sofia asked, mostly joking but partly serious.

“I’d try to avoid conflict considering everyone already thinks I’m insane and I don’t need anyone blaming ‘bad childhood’ for it.”

Sofia scoffed. “That’s some low hanging fruit.”

“At this point, they don’t even need to try in order to make it look like I’m crazy. Apparently, if you’re introverted and don’t play well with others then you’re immediately labeled an intelligent psychopath.”

Sofia didn’t think that was as funny as Bec did. “S-Should I speak at your trial? Establish that this wasn’t normal?”

“I think my lawyer would bite your head off if you tried.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, exclaiming rudely. “Screw him then! What’s  _ his  _ plan?”

Bec thought for a moment, wondering if he should tell the information that the FBI didn’t even disclose to the public. But Bec wasn’t exactly feeling the rules then. “Someone copied the murders that they’re accusing me of all on one victim. They sent my lawyer the ear they cut off the victim, even used my knife to do it. We’re going to try to make it… seem like someone else was always the killer instead of me.”

Sofia paused, staring across the table at him. “That seems pretty convenient for you.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing but… we’re taking it in stride. Anything is better than nothing right now.”

Sofia shrugged again, still seeming unsure. “I guess… I don’t know. I just don’t like crazy killers getting hard-ons for your suspected murders. Makes me think that when you get out, they’ll just stab you in the neck.”

Cautiously, Bec looked to the glass door, seeing only the solo guard waiting outside for when Sofia was done. His eyes stayed downcasted when he turned back to his sister. “Sofia, I have something to tell you but you have to  _ swear _ to me that it will not leave this room.”

Her brow furrowed in worry at the seriousness of his tone and she sat up slightly in her chair. “What? What happened?”

“I-I…” Bec hesitated, struggling to find the words until he sighed to himself and whispered. “...I’m pregnant.”

Her face dropped, eyes going wide briefly in shock. She swallowed heavily as she recovered and leaned closer to her brother, reaching across the table to hold his shackled hands. “Bec, are you sure?”

The empath nodded quickly. “I found out when I was hospitalized after I shot Abel Gideon.”

“That long? H-Have you told anyone?” Sofia asked gently.

“ _ God _ , no,” Bec denied, shaking his head. “Just you. I can’t trust anyone else with this, Sof.”

She paused, staring into the empath with a million questions bouncing around in her skull but the next one asked made Bec’s blood run cold. “Who’s the father?” He stammered for an answer but Sofia cut him off again, firmly repeating. “ _ Bec _ , who is the father?”

“...Dr. Cavalli,” Bec admitted.

Sofia sat back, not even looking at him as the information sunk in, slowly shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re institutionalized in a hospital for the  _ criminally insane _ that has a record of malpractice with a staff who’s known to be just as crazy as the patients… and you’re  _ pregnant. _ Bec, what the hell are you thinking?”

“I think the second anyone finds out that I got knocked up by my now star witness, they’ll throw my entire defense out the window.”

She raised her eyebrows at her brother. “You were calling Dr. Cavalli a murderer barely a week ago.”

“And I’m still on the fence about that. I’m not telling him until I’m sure… that he’s not dangerous.”

Her face dropped, filled with worry and confusion, and he wished he could have reached over to soothe her fear. But even he was scared.

 

Her wedges clacked against the stone of the hospital’s steps as Sofia all but rushed out of the building. With her head still spinning at the revelations made in the private room, she didn’t even notice the familiar face waiting beside his car in the parking lot as she made a mad dash to her own vehicle until a man’s voice spoke up. “Hey, Sofia.”

Stopping in her tracks, her head shot up to match eyes with Amaund as he idled outside of his car, waiting for her. Sofia narrowed her eyes at the tall man, hands on her hips as if scolding her daughter. “And where exactly have  _ you _ been?”

He raised an eyebrow at the woman. “Trying to help our brother out of the nut house.”

“You know he’s worried sick about you, right?” Sofia snapped at him. “He thinks someone killed you.”

Forlornly, Amaund looked up at the high, barred windows of the archaic hospital. “I didn’t wanna go in there with more bad news.”

“What and you think I went in optimistic?” Sofia pressed before waving her hands. “You know what, I’m not dealing with this. I’ve got to get to work.”

She turned to stomp back to her car before Amaund shouted. “You’re a funeral director, Sofia. They’ll still be dead when you get back.”

“I work with the families too, jackass,” Sofia bit back at her brother.

“ _ Our  _ family is in trouble,” Amaund called after her.

Finally, she hesitated, sighing deeply before whipping back around, trudging around Amaund’s vehicle as she demanded. “Get in the car.”

Quickly, Amaund dropped into the driver’s side as Sofia slammed the passenger’s side door closed behind her, turning to her other brother and blurting over the middle console. “Bec is pregnant.”

Amaund’s eyes went cartoonishly wide and Sofia wondered if that’s what she looked like when Bec told her. He blubbered. “ _ What? _ ”

“Bec. He’s pregnant and locked up in that hellhole,” Sofia reiterated, motioning to the hospital with her head.

Amaund shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Is he okay? Has he told them about it?”

“No. He hasn’t told anybody but me and I’m telling you so if I find out you blabbered to somebody I swear to Go-”

Her threat fell on deaf ears though as Amaund beamed. “I’m gonna be an uncle again.”

“Amaund, oh my God,” Sofia muttered, her head dropping into her hands.

“What? I’m excited. Someone has to be,” Amaund muttered in his defense before questioning. “Wait, who’s the father?”

Just as Bec did, Sofia hesitated in admitting it but she relented. “...It’s Dr. Cavalli.”

Amaund’s eyebrows seemed to hit his hairline. “Bec got knocked up by the guy he thinks  _ framed _ him for multiple murders? Holy crap, he was sleeping with his therapist...”

“Yeah, I already yelled at him about it.  _ Multiple _ times.”

Her brother paused as the revelation processed in his mind, mumbling. “So… What now?”

Frustrated, Sofia sighed. “Bec is conflicted. Dr. Cavalli will be testifying for him at his trial and he feels that if they turn around and convict the guy right now then it’ll all fall apart.”

“Still… I got some leads on the guy. If I follow ‘em up I might be able to get some ammunition for when Bec gets out.”

“What leads?” Sofia asked.

“I, uh, broke into his office when he wasn’t there. Snapped some pictures of documents that he had about Bec that I don’t think he turned over to the FBI during his investigation. I got a recurring associate’s name and a business card.”

Sofia raised an eyebrow at him. “Business card?”

“Yeah,” Amaund slipped his hand into his back pocket, handing her the card he retrieved from the floor of the doctor’s office. “The good doctor doesn’t really seem like the boxing type now does he?”

She flipped the card in her hands as she observed the logo before taking her phone out of her purse.

“What are you doing?” Amaund questioned.

“I’m looking it up,” She answered without taking her eyes off her phone screen. “It’s gotta have a website, right?”

“Well I mean I don’t really think it’d be _ that _ easy considering the number of hours I’ve put into this investiga-” “‘Washington D.C. Boxing Club, owned and operated... by Delmar  _ Cavalli _ ’,” Sofia read from the homepage of the website, looking up to Amaund with a pointed stare. “You found his brother.”

 

Bec’s eyes followed the doctor as he moved down the aisle of the courtroom to the witness stand, placing his hand on the offered bible and the empath was almost surprised when his skin didn’t start burning from the contact. “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”

For a split second, as Bec made eye contact with Huesyth, he saw nothing but the onyx face of the wendigo in Huesyth’s suit, towering antlers and all as he sat down at the stand. The empath blinked and Huesyth was back to normal.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Brauer began. “Please describe your relationship with Bec Reyes.”

Answering as truthfully as he could to remain with clean hands, Huesyth explained. “I was asked by Jack Crawford to monitor Bec's emotional well-being while he worked on cases. I was never officially his psychiatrist.”

“If you weren't his psychiatrist, what were you?”

“I was meant to be his stability,” The doctor turned to look Bec in the eye and for once, the empath held the gaze. “I failed him in that.”

“How did you fail him?” Brauer asked.

“I was unable to determine if Bec's condition was due to mental illness or stress from his work at the FBI,” Huesyth explained. “My mistake was never considering his innocence. Until the murder of a bailiff from this courthouse.”

A stir in the audience behind him as people turned to cast judgemental looks to one another but Brauer continued uninhibited. “And how did you know about that, Dr. Cavalli?”

“I have been asked to consult on the case by Jack Crawford. He wanted a profile of the bailiff's killer.”

Brauer nodded slightly. “So, you believe the bailiff's murder was committed by the same person guilty of Bec Reyes's alleged crimes, yes?”

“Profiles aren't evidence,” Vega snapped as she stood from her seat. “They're opinion. This is hearsay.”

“I’ll allow it,” The judge offered.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Brauer nodded.

Huesyth looked the judge’s way, continuing despite the interruption. “I believe there are alarming similarities in the crimes, yes.”

Addressing the elephant in the room, Brauer brought up. “Bec Reyes accused you of the crimes for which he now stands trial, and yet here you are, testifying on his behalf for the defense.”

The doctor looked back at Bec, only briefly but enough for the empath to catch it. “Bec rightfully couldn't accept these actions to be his. A mind faced with the possibility of committing such deeds will find an alternative reality to believe in.”

“You don’t blame him for that?”

“No,” Huesyth replied surely, holding the empath's gaze again. “Bec Reyes is and always will be my friend.”

Satisfied, Brauer settled his case, returning to his seat as he offered the witness to Vega. The prosecutor stood, adjusting her blazer. “Dr. Lecter,” Huesyth turned to her, breaking the long eye contact. “What was the cause of death in the bailiff's murder?”

“A bullet to the heart,” Huesyth answered.

“Mm. And in Will Graham's victims, or  _ alleged  _ victims, what was their cause of death?”

Huesyth paused briefly. “Mutilation.”

“That's  _ very _ different from a bullet.”

“No two crimes of  _ any  _ killer are going to be exactly the same. The similarities--” “Your Honor, the witness's personal beliefs and biases are driving his conclusions. There are clearly two different killers and two different cases.”

Brauer stood quickly. “Your Honor, there are sufficient similarities to consider this a defense.”

The judge looked between the prosecutor and Huesyth before turning back to Brauer. “I'm ruling this defense inadmissible, Mr. Brauer.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Vega appreciated as she returned to her seat.

“All previous testimony on the matter will be stricken from the record,” The judge proclaimed as Huesyth met eyes with Bec again, an apologetic glance, before averting his eyes.

 

Another night staring across at the empty therapy chair. The day couldn’t have gone more wrong in Huesyth’s opinion and it left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth as he seethed silently in the shadows of his office. However, out of the darkness, a pair of gentle hands smoothed down his chest from behind. His imaginary lover nuzzled lovingly against the side of Huesyth’s head, a form of comfort.

“ **_Help me,_ ** ” The figment whispered in his ear, the first words he ever spoke.

 

Mutilated, suspended from the ceiling of the courtroom by hooks and chains with one of his arms supported by a wooden rod. He’d been remade into the iconic statue of Justice, bloody bandages covering his eyes but with the top of his head missing. In the hand supported by the rod held a set of golden scales, the judge’s brain in one and his heart in the other. The three scientists scanned the body while Huesyth and Jack watched from below, the older agent completely dumbfounded by the sight.

“So, it appears that the judge was murdered in his chambers and then he was hauled out here to be put on display,” Jack explained without taking his eyes off of the body.

“Not only is justice blind, but it's also mindless and heartless,” Huesyth commented as he stared at the weighted scales. “How did the killer get so close?”

“No sign of a struggle. Mutilation was postmortem,” Beverly deduced.

As Brian observed the empty chest cavity and the large blood stain down the front of his robes, he mentioned. “He was shot in the chest just like the bailiff. Can't see the, uh, entry wound because he removed the heart.”

“But there is an exit wound,” Jimmy added from behind. “No slug so he must have taken it with him.”

“A trophy,” Huesyth guessed.

“Doctor,” Jack started, moving away so the two of them could speak more privately. “With this judge's death, there will be no verdict. No ending. It'll start all over again. Like the trial never happened. But why?”

Huesyth didn’t really think that far ahead. The fit of anger the judge’s ruling caused him to shed any rational thinking over the consequences. He reacted instead of planning. That wasn’t something he did often. “Psychopathic violence is predominantly goal-oriented, a means to a very particular end.”

“So, the killer wanted a mistrial?” Jack asked.

“It's an elegant,” Huesyth looked back to the mutilated corpse then to Jack. “If rather unorthodox, solution.”

“He spares Bec a guilty verdict and his life for the moment.”

“Yes.”

Jack nodded before questioning. “The question is, is it the same killer? Is Bec still on trial, in your mind?”

Huesyth sighed softly. “The use of a gun. Death first, mutilation last. I feel like St. Peter ready to deny Bec for the third time but I'm not sure this is the same killer, Jack.”

The older agent seemed displeased by his unsure answer but then his eyes went up to find an older woman standing in the doorway to the courtroom. Based on the fact that he didn’t immediately shoo her for being in a federal crime scene, Huesyth assumed they knew each other. Especially so when he dismissed himself from Huesyth’s side in order to lead her out into the hall start speaking quietly to one another.

She looked displeased but she could join the club with the rest of the FBI.

 

“I was hoping the verdict would have helped focus your mind to get better. Make what happened to you less terrifying and confusing. I can't exactly blame your lawyer.”

“Faith in any sort of legal justice has never been any more comforting than a nightlight,” Bec commented.

Alana, however, fought for a clearer answer, staring at her hands against the privacy room table. “There are so many miscarriages of justice when it comes to identifying a psychopath. You could have easily been misdiagnosed.”

“I've already been misdiagnosed,” Bec reminded her. “Countless times.”

“Not by the court.”

“No,” Bec relinquished. “Not yet. I walked out of that courtroom, and I could hear my blood, like, uh... a hollow drumming of wings. And I had the...  _ absurd _ feeling that whoever this killer is... he walked out of that courtroom with me. He's gonna reach out to me again.”

“What does he want?” Alana asked.

“He wants to  _ know _ me,” The empath explained. “What do you want?”

She considered the question before answering simply. “I want to save you.”

 

Silence crept in like a shadow in the night but he had become used to the deafening sound of it. Stripping off his jacket, tie, and vest, Huesyth collected his sketch pad from the nightstand before sitting heavily in his usual chair. Idly, he sharpened the edge of his pencil with a scalpel to form the desired point. After putting the scalpel down on the table again, he let his eyes slip closed and when he opened them again, the ideal imaginary Bec was laying on his stomach across Huesyth’s bed. Dressed scantily clad with his legs kicked up behind him and his head resting carelessly in his hands. A sweet smile touched his lips as his eyes remained half-lidded, staring with distant satisfaction.

A smirk pulled at Huesyth’s face as he relaxed back in his chair, sketchpad resting on his lap. “Roll over and pose for me, love.”

The imaginary Bec smiled a cheeky smile, a playful giggle emanating from him as he followed his orders and rolled over onto his back. He looked back to Huesyth when he was in the desired position with his head over the side of the bed, hair a dark waterfall over the sheets with the bare expanse of his neck exposed and ready to be grabbed and held down. His legs were spread as if he was waiting for Huesyth to come and rest between them. It was a sight that made the doctor’s mouth water.

“You look beautiful.”

The facade smiled again, the same sweetness honeying his expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	4. “Takiawase”

_ “Try the first position. It’s easy,” The empath offered. “Heels touching with knees squeezed together. You’re lifting up and your toes are turned out as far as they can go.” _

_ Abigail copied his form to the best of her ability, wobbling only slightly. “Limbs aren’t meant to bend like this.” _

_ “You’re not even bending anything yet,” Bec snorted. “It takes a lot of practice to stretch your muscles and build up bone strength. It’s why people start ballet training so young.” _

_ “When did you start?” The Hobbs girl asked. _

_ “I was about eight,” Bec answered. “Second position you turn until your arm reaches to the side. You’re a foot’s distance away.” _

_ She copied him again, having far better balance then she said she did as she leaned on the ballet barre between them. “This is the easy stuff, isn’t it?” Abigail commented, brushing the loose hairs of her ponytail back out of her face, both ears still on her head. _

_ “Warm up positions for the younger classes,” Bec explained, stepping forward to adjust Abigail’s arm position. “I didn’t think you’d want to hurt your ankles right away. If you don’t break anything, I’ll teach you how to fish next.” _

_ “Isn’t fishing the same as hunting? One you stalk, the other you lure.” _

_ “One you catch, the other you shoot,” Bec added. _

_ Curiously, Abigail raised an eyebrow at him, relaxing her position. “What are you trying to catch?” _

_ “The one who caught you,” The empath said without looking her way. _

_ Abigail sighed, looking into the large mirrors at their reflections. “The one that got away.” _

_ “If you catch a fish once and it gets away, it's a lot harder to catch again.” _

_ She nodded in understanding but her eyes were downcasted. “Everybody thinks you're lying about the one that got away.” _

_ “That's why I have to catch him.” _

_ Hopeful, Abigail smiled up at him. “I hope you do.” _

His eyes opened again and he stared into the same crime scene photo of the eye mural. At that point, the image was practically seared into the back of his mind from how much he had to look at it.

“You were right,” Beverly said through the bars of his cell and he perked up slightly. “The killer was in the mural. Just where you said he'd be. His name was James Gray. We found his vehicle outside the farm and there was enough DNA on the bed of his truck for us to be confident he's the Muralist.”

Bec glanced at a report within the same file as the photos, scanning over the walls of text containing what the FBI found. “You found as much evidence on him as you did on me.”

She shrugged. “I’m glad  _ you _ said it.”

“Who stitched him into the mural then?” The empath asked.

Beverly shook her head, her hands on her hips. “We don't know. He may have had a partner. Another killer. Maybe they had some kind of suicide pact.”

The empath wasn’t as easily convinced though, shaking his head. “There was no partner. This artist worked alone until he was stitched into his own creation.”

“There were no signs of a struggle. He didn’t fight back.”

“No. So, this second killer, whoever he is, understood the Muralist well enough not just to find where he hid his canvas, but enough to  _ convince _ him to be part of it as well. He wanted him to finish the painting.”

They both approached the bars ever so slightly at the same time as Beverly questioned. “You have an idea who that might be?”

“I do,” Bec offered almost cheerily.

“Don’t say, ‘Huesyth Cavalli’,” Beverly pleaded with a disgruntled shake of her head.

“I’m saying Huesyth Cavalli.”

Sighing, she snapped at him. “I thought you stopped ringing that bell?”

“I'm not asking you to believe anything you can't prove,” Bec firmly asserted. “I'm just asking for you to prove it.”

Beverly folded her arms over her chest. “Huesyth Cavalli has no reason-” “That is  _ exactly _ right. He has no discernible reason to want these people dead other than his own amusement and curiosity.”

Her mouth went into a thin line as she scanned his face, the clear determination that he held. Quietly, she relented. “That's hard to prove.”

“There will be a very clever detail to find on James Gray,” Bec revealed, vague and foreboding as it was but it was all he could offer. There was no clear M.O. with the Ripper or the copycat. It would be hard to find one if it even existed. “He wouldn't be able to resist it. Probably something that was overlooked. Something hidden.”

Beverly sighed, looking away briefly as she considered her options before turning back to him. “I'll look for clever details. But I'm not going to look for Huesyth.”

He offered a tight-lipped smile. “Just as long as you’re looking. You look out there. I'll look in here.”

 

“I'll give you the same deal I gave Beverly Katz,” Chilton gave the caged empath a confused expression at his sudden offer but Bec narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you know what it is. You've been recording our conversations. Or are we pretending you didn't?”

“What ‘this’ are you offering in exchange for my ‘that’?” Chilton asked, his interest obviously piqued.

“I'm quite the topic of conversation in psychiatric circles,” Bec mocked, mirroring his first conversation with the doctor.

Chilton chuckled wryly, standing with the help of his cane before pacing around the empath’s cage. He held his head high, triumphant, like he was the one that put Bec there to begin with. “I shared my diagnosis of you on the witness stand. Your personality disorders, neuroses, all forgeries.”

“Even if that were true, I'd still be a psychopath of some interest.”

“Mm,” Chilton hummed as he circled the cage. “Quite a manipulative one at that. Poor, confused, wounded bird for Agent Crawford and Doctors Cavalli and Bloom. And for me, well, I get the psychopath's triumvirate: charm, focus, and ruthlessness. The charm being debatable, of course.”

Bec huffed, reminding himself internally that it was obviously a terrible idea to open the door for Chilton to run his mouth. “So, either I'm a psychopath or I’m delusional... Or maybe I'm right about Huesyth Cavalli. Aren't you curious which one it is?”

Suddenly, Chilton came to a total standstill at the front of the cage, curiously asking through the spaces between the bars. “Will you allow me to test you?”

“Test me? I'll take 'em all,” Bec snorted softly, bemused by that being Chilton’s first request. “You will be the first and last word in the mind of Bec Reyes.  _ God, _ you could dine out on that for years.”

The offer clearly seemed to align with Chilton’s interest, Bec was almost surprised by how easy it was to play with the man that prided himself so much on being strictly professional with the empath. He was obviously just as easily manipulated by personal desires as anyone else.

“What about Dr. Cavalli?” Chilton questioned, sidling closer to the cage then was really allowed.

“Shouldn't you be my one and only psychiatrist, Dr. Chilton?”

As nonchalantly as he could, Chilton shrugged. “Ideally.”

“Well then,” Bec leaned forward in the cage, casually hanging his arms out of the bars but Chilton flinched first, stepping back to avoid being grabbed. The empath finally looking up to meet Chilton’s eyes. “As to your ‘that’ for my ‘this’. Do not discuss me or my therapy with Huesyth Cavalli. Tell him that you've decided I am no longer any of his business.”

The empath moved back into the cage, offering a joyless smile. “I am now under your  _ exclusive  _ care.”

 

She observed the litho plate print of Rembrandt’s, The Raising of Lazarus, motioning to the titled figure himself with her hand.

“Lazarus had it good,” Bella looked up to him, appearing far more frail than when he’d last seen her, dark shadows forming beneath her eyes. “My social circle doesn't include a friend with power over death. I suppose I should've embraced Facebook while I had the chance.”

They chuckled together and Huesyth allowed Bella her gallows humor before she ran a hand across her head, effortlessly collecting thin hairs between her fingers. Her face dropped at the sight of the coily strands, turning away to take a seat in one of the therapy chairs.

She sighed softly, frustrated with herself or maybe her husband or maybe the world altogether. “I never should have let Jack talk me into chemo.”

“He's trying to extend your life,” Huesyth calmly avowed, sitting across from her.

Bella retorted with a twist of her lip. “He's trying to extend a quality of life that's not worth the effort.”

“Jack's efforts or yours?” Huesyth questioned.

He could see the way her shoulders tensed. Bella mulled on that before shaking her head slightly. “I'm vomiting my stomach lining. On a good day, I sleep... fifteen to eighteen hours. On a bad day, I _ don't  _ sleep at all. My best-case scenario is prolonged pain management.”

“Jack will help you manage,” The doctor reminded like she needed it. “He loves you, Bella. When you are gone, he will feel your silence like a draft.”

Bella’s dark gaze met eyes with him. “My silence is inevitable. The war is over and the cancer is an occupying force. I want to  _ surrender _ ... While I still have my dignity.”

The doctor paused at what she was implying and he had to keep his face from reacting in the way his mind was. Which was considerably more like a swirling storm that was quickly building. “You are considering ending your life?”

“Suicide seems like a valid solution to my problem,” Bella shrugged nonchalantly.

For once, he didn’t know how to respond in any way that could possibly change her mind so he went back to the one question he knew would get something. “How does that make you feel?” Huesyth asked.

“Alive,” Bella answered, straight-faced and truthful down to the bone. “How does it make  _ you _ feel?”

He should have known someone as quick-witted as Bella would turn it back around on him if he didn’t keep a tight hold on the situation. With a soft scoff, Huesyth offered her a quirked brow. “I've always found the idea of death comforting. The thought that my life could end at any moment frees me to fully appreciate the beauty, and art... and horror of everything this world has to offer.”

“A death benefit?” Bella questioned, narrowing her eyes at him.

He acknowledged the play on words with a slight smile. “Upon taking his own life, Socrates offered a rooster to the god of healing, Asclepius, to pay his debt.”

“What debt might that be?” Bella wondered aloud.

“To Socrates, death was not a defeat... but a cure.”

 

“Zeller's out in the field, otherwise I'd ask him to help me with this,” Beverly explained as she pulled out the morgue tray containing the body of the Muralist, the remains of the stitching still laced through his flesh. “You were a surgeon, right?”

“I was a surgeon and a doctor, yes,” Huesyth confirmed, observing the body. “Have you found any evidence on the Muralist's friend?”

“That's what I need your help with. Might not have been a friend. Might not have even been an acquaintance. Whoever killed him, understood him.”

Some movement came from behind her as the imaginary Bec stood next to her beside the morgue tray.

He offered the figment a brief glance before looking back at the woman, raising a curious eyebrow at her. “So often do you open your mouth and I hear Bec Reyes's words come out.”

Beverly stared, resisting a smile before confessing. “I have an arrangement with Bec,” The imaginary Bec raised an eyebrow at her before shrugging in understanding. “He's agreed to consult with me on cases if I keep investigating the murders he's accused of.”

“I'm happy to hear that,” Huesyth praised. “Bec needs a champion now more than ever.”

“He has you, doesn't he?” Beverly questioned as the figment sauntered around her to nestle against Huesyth’s side. “You think there's a chance he could be innocent. I know you do.”

Huesyth shrugged. “I believe there is a possibility.”

“I'm just relieved he's not saying you’re the killer anymore,” Beverly expressed.

“At least not  _ to _ me,” Huesyth said as he pulled on a pair of gloves. “Who does Bec believe killed the Muralist?”

“Doesn't know. He thinks if James Gray's killer hid him in the mural, he may have hid something else.”

“A signature?” Huesyth questioned, reaching behind him to the tray of autopsy tools to retrieve a magnifying glass to observe the deep sutures. “What kind of killer seeks to depict the unconscious, instinctual striving of his victim by sewing him into a human mural?”

“It wasn’t just for appearances.”

Huesyth moved to the other side of the morgue tray, switching sides with Beverly and pulling out of mind Bec’s hold, leaving the figment with a disgruntled pout. “You have to get to the truth beneath the appearances. Only by going deep beneath the skin will you understand the nature of this killer's pathology.”

The two across from him observed him curiously as he studied the sutures, they were still unbroken. The FBI still hadn’t looked below the work that mimicked the Muralist’s.

 

His entire body was tense, fists tight on the arms of the chair he was shackled to as the medical team worked around him in the dim room. The atmosphere made him uneasy and it wasn’t helped by Chilton pacing around behind him with his snobby voice.

“Before I start asking you questions, I need some confidence that you’ll be telling the truth when you answer.”

The doctor presents the empath with a form clipped to a clipboard and Bec raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s this?”

“A consent form,” Chilton explained. “You're agreeing to a narcoanalytic interview. You. Me. And our old friend, sodium amytal.”

One of the nurses brought up an IV stand by his side, his breath catching in his throat when they stuck the needle into his forearm but there was no turning back now. “A little something to loosen my tongue?”

“Something lawfully used in the evaluation of psychotic patients,” Chilton corrected.

“What would you use to induce memory loss in a patient, psychotic or otherwise?”

“The protein synthesis that moves memories from short-term to long-term can be interrupted, but that requires tools and skills,” Chilton shrugged. “And a certain level of unorthodoxy.”

“Does Huesyth Cavalli possess those tools and skills?”

The doctor studied the bound empath. “Dr. Cavalli has indicated to me that he is open to the unorthodox when it comes to treating patients.”

“I wonder how that subject came up…” Bec quipped. “Sharing stories of the unorthodox.”

Chilton gave a cheap smile, slipping a pen into Bec’s hand and motioning to the clipboard. “Sign here.”

Before he could change his mind, he scribbled his signature on the offered line and handed the pen back to the doctor. The nurse injected the dosage into the IV tube and Bec watched it as it traveled into his veins. It didn’t take much time for him to feel the effects of the drugs and allow his head to lull back, staring into the fluorescent lights above him as they began to flicker. 

_ But the flicker sped up until it became a constant strobe and his head rolled back onto his shoulders, his eyes opening barely as sweat slicked his brow to see Huesyth kneeled by his side. The doctor injected a needle into his vein and depressed the plunger before looking up at the empath. _

_ “I want you to draw a clock for me.” _

He forced his head up to look at Chilton across from him but the doctor was looking down at his clipboard, his voice muffled as if speaking through water. “Did Dr. Cavalli administer any drug therapies during your sessions together?”

His head was heavy and he let it pull him back under the effects of the drugs.  _ Huesyth moved, he now sat across from him so they were in their usual positions during therapy but the strobing light by his side caused him to be intermittently illuminated. By his side, the notebook was open with a drawing of a clock on the page but another flash revealed a skewed image with the numbers all forced to one side. _

_ “The strobe causes neurons to fire en masse, like striking many piano keys at once,” Huesyth began speaking. “The dissonance might foster a change in your mind.” _

_ His mind was on fire and he wasn’t paying attention when he looked up to see the blurred and skewed image of Huesyth’s face, just as the clock drawing had appeared. _

_ “Is something wrong?” The visage asked as Bec began to convulse in a full-blown seizure and the world slipped into black. _

Only momentarily, for when he focused back in, Chilton was staring at him, brow furrowed in confusion as to the empath’s unresponsiveness. “Bec...?”

Bec was panting, his breathing heavy as he forced a swallow. “He was inducing seizures. He was encouraging them. The blackouts. The lost time. It was  _ strategic _ . It was  _ planned. _ ”

Chilton stared but tried to disprove as he went back to his clipboard. “You would only see a seizure response in a brain afflicted with photosensitive epilepsy.”

“Or afflicted by something just as damaging,” Bec cut in. “Like encephalitis.”

That caught Chilton’s attention as he looked back up at the empath, muttering. “That would suggest a radically unorthodox form of therapy.”

Bec gave a stuttering nod. “Yes… Yes, it would.”

 

He waited patiently outside the nurses’ station, his overcoat folded over his arm. A shape descended the stairs and Chilton came through the security gate, frustrated and apologetic when he met the taller man’s eye.

“Dr. Cavalli. I am so embarrassed. You didn't get my message?” Huesyth raised an eyebrow at the other man. “I’ve canceled your appointment with Bec Reyes.”

“Is everything alright?” Huesyth asked, feeling a momentary and disadvantaged spike in panic at the prospect of the empath in pain.

“I can explain. Shall we?” Chilton motioned to the stairs of the cell block he just came down from and hesitantly, Huesyth followed after him. “Bec is at a delicate point in his therapy. I don't want to confuse him any more than he already is.”

“Confuse him?” Huesyth questioned. He was beginning to become confused himself. “I thought it was your opinion that he is an intelligent psychopath?”

“It was, but my opinion is evolving. After administering a narcoanalytic interview, therapeutically  _ vital _ information has come to light.”

Huesyth narrowed his eyes at the other man. “What sort of information?”

“What Bec Reyes is suffering from may not be a single condition, but a continuum of illnesses, all with different neurological mechanisms.” Peeking over his shoulder, Chilton’s gaze looked him over up and down. “Some naturally occurring, others appear to have been induced.”

They stopped at the first landing of the stairs, light from outside just barely filtering in through the tall covered windows, and Huesyth didn’t miss the critical look that the other doctor shot him.

“Induced?” The taller man repeated confusedly. “Induced by whom?”

In a rare moment of self-awareness, Chilton seemed unconvinced by the naive facade. “Did you ever use any kind of light stimulation in your treatment?”

“Light stimulation is a standard tool for Neurotherapy.”

“Evidently, it was overloading his visual cortex,” Chilton explained. “Creating seizures, time loss, gaps in his memory. Almost strategically, it seems.”

Chilton turned away before the doctor could answer the accusations, continuing up the stairs a few steps but Huesyth remained stationary on the landing. “You're suggesting it was intentional?”

With a soft scoff, Chilton looked back at him, now above his eye level on the steps but lowering his voice conspiratorially. “All our conversations about psychic driving. You were so curious and eager to hear what I had to say while saying very little yourself.”

“I had very little to say,” Huesyth assured, approaching the base of the stairs.

“I have been thinking about the possibility that  _ you _ may have been psychic driving Bec Reyes all along.”

Huesyth raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “A bold accusation, Frederick.”

“You are not the only psychiatrist accused of making a patient kill,” Chilton reminded before a thin smirk crossed his face. “We have to stick together.”

The taller doctor fought the urge to cringe in disgust but he guessed there were worse people to have in his corner.

 

Uncomfortably, Bec rolled back and forth in his cot, drenched in sweat as his breath rose and fell in unsteady panting. In the distance, an argument began growing somewhere in the distance.

_ “I feel like I'm losing my mind. Just tell me... if he's real.” _

_ “I don't see anyone.” _

_ “No, he's right there.” _

_ “There's no one there, Bec” _

_ “No, no, you're lying.” _

_ “You came here alone. Do you remember coming here?” _

_ Bec looked through the bars of his cell and saw a completely different room, a third person view of a scene playing out in Huesyth’s dining room. Abel Gideon was seated at the end of the table, not Hobbs’ emotionless corpse, watching curiously as the empath in the memory practically lost his mind. _

_ Memory Bec’s head whipped back around to face the doctor, his gun lowering, and he wept. “No, please don't lie to me!” _

_ “Garret Jacob Hobbs is dead. You killed him. You watched him die.” _

_ “What's happening to me?!” Bec wailed, rubbing his face, desperately trying to hold on. _

_ “Bec, Bec! Bec, you're having an episode. I want you to hand me over the gun.” _

_ The real Bec stood shakily from his bed as the doctor quickly removed the weapon from the seizing empath’s hand, blood gushing down his face from his nose in streams to stain his front. _

_ Placing the weapon on the mantle behind him, Huesyth held Bec’s twitching, sweaty face still to observe his eyes as they had dilated dramatically. He pressed the palm of his hand against the empath’s forehead to check his temperature. The shaking began to slow as Huesyth held Bec’s face in his hands, bumping their foreheads together gently as Bec fell deathly still even with the bleeding. _

_ “Shhh, lovely. It’s alright,” Huesyth whispered, almost painfully loving despite the violence of the episode. He pulled back, remembering the other man in the room and retrieving the gun again as he calmly addressed Gideon. “He's had a mild seizure.” _

_ “That... doesn't seem to bother you,” Gideon replied. _

_ The real Bec pushed open his cell door, stepping into the scene as the two conversed, not noticing his presence. He stood across from his twitching, bleeding self on the other side of the table and forced himself to look away. _

_ “It does but, as I said, it was mild,” Gideon shrugged in agreement. Huesyth placed the gun at the other end of the table before he took his seat in front of it. “Are you the man who claimed to be the Chesapeake Ripper?” _

_ “Why do you say ‘claimed’?” _

_ “Because you're not.” Bec looked between the two as they spoke but settled on Huesyth’s face, calculating and calm. “You know you're not and you don't know much more about who you are beyond that.” _

_ Gideon was struck silent by that assessment but managed to ask. “Are you The Ripper?” _

_ “A terrible thing…” Huesyth looked up at the real Bec, matching eyes with him. “To have your identity taken from you.” _

His eyes snapped open again, stunned by the memory he recovered as he laid in the puddle of his sweat on the concrete slab of a mattress.

 

“Whoever killed James Gray didn't just take his leg,” Beverly slid the open file across the table to him, revealing the images of the double-layered stitches. “There are sutures hidden beneath the stitching that wove him into the mural. One crime made to look like another.”

“Like the Copycat,” Bec suggested meekly, still rattled by the memory haunting him. “And... the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Flopping down into the other chair, Beverly sat across from him with a frustrated sigh. “Now you're saying Huesyth Cavalli is the Chesapeake Ripper?”

“I'm saying he’s  _ also _ the Chesapeake Ripper,” Bec reiterated, a joyless, breathy laugh leaving him. “Um... were the kidneys surgically removed?”

She furrowed her brow at him slightly. “Yes.”

The empath shrugged slightly before offering. “Dr. Cavalli was a surgeon.”

“I know he was. He told me himself,” Beverly confirmed. “I asked him to consult on James Gray's autopsy.”

It felt as if Bec’s heart dropped into his stomach at the reveal, his brow furrowing. “You  _ what? _ If you invited him with an actual agenda, Huesyth would know it.”

“He  _ pointed _ me to the evidence,” Beverly asserted.

“He pointed you to an  _ absence  _ of evidence,” The empath shot back. “He's baiting a hook, Beverly. He's toying with you. You need to go to Jack. Tell him everything.”

She shook her head. “I can't bring this to Jack until I can back it up.”

Soft but harsh, Bec implored. “ _ Stay away _ from Huesyth Cavalli.”

Beverly still looked unconvinced, questioning. “The Chesapeake Ripper kept surgical trophies. If Huesyth's the Ripper, what's he doing with his trophies?”

Immediately, a horrible thought crossed his mind. He remembered Cassie Boyle again, her body splayed out across the stag’s head like a dinner table with the crows pecking at her like hungry guests. The sausage and eggs Huesyth brought him in the days after, watching carefully as Bec ate it.

The empath gagged, shackled hands covering his mouth again at the threat of nausea that overtook him. Swallowing heavily, Bec was left reeling from the horrifying realization and muttered through his hands. “He's eating them.”

Beverly stared, wide-eyed, as Bec suppressed a shudder. He’d eaten Huesyth’s trophies too.

 

He stared at the shining gold plaques of the trophies on the other side of the glass, some slightly dull with age and others newer, all having varying levels of dust on them. His reflection shined back at him clearly through the case’s glass. Sounds of punching bags being slammed with powerful fists echoed around the spacious building, the clatter of gym equipment and the mumbling of those conversing with friends. It was an older building, gutted from what it was before and replaced with new equipment.

In the boxing ring in the middle of the room, two people were sparring with one another until apparently one did something against the rules. They tackled one another with some incomprehensible harsh words and flying fists. It sent them both slamming to the mat only to have the trainer shout at them to knock it off.

Averting his eyes from the scene, Amaund stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets until someone came to stand by his side, breaking the silence. “You tryin’ to check your hair in the reflection or something?”

Only slightly startled, Amaund turned to face the very same trainer, a man more than a few inches shorter than him, green eyes that matched Dr. Cavalli’s almost perfectly. He had the same strong jaw but this one had short, floppy brown hair and an easy smile. Though, the same sharp canines peeked from his lips to give a predatory edge.

“You’ve been standing here a while. I mean, you look great if that’s what you’re really worried about.”

His voice wasn’t as heavily accented as Dr. Cavalli’s was, it seemingly melted away with the years he spent in America.

Amaund smiled back with a snort. “I was actually waiting on you,” He motioned to the sparring team still shoving at each other as they squabbled off the mat. “You looked busy up there.”

“Well I certainly feel lucky,” The man beamed, sticking a hand out so that Amaund could shake it. “The name’s Delmar. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Amaund,” The taller man introduced, looking back to the trophy case. “These yours?”

Delmar’s face seemed to light up at the mention of the achievements. “Ah, some of ‘em are but a good portion are from people I’ve trained over the years.”

“You still compete?” Amaund wondered.

“Not as much anymore,” Delmar shrugged. “You just come here to talk about me or…?”

Amaund offered a chuckle. “No, actually. I was wondering if you could train me actually.”

The shorter man raised an eyebrow up at him. “Really?” Amaund nodded and Delmar motioned over his shoulder with his head. “Why don’t you follow me. We can talk more in my office.”

The shorter man led Amaund away from the trophy case, up a slightly rickety set of metal stairs to a small, overhanging office that overlooked the main space of the gym with a large window.  The dusty blinds were open, letting in the sunlight from the gym windows below. It was strikingly different from the huge double layered office of his brother, wall to wall with books and art of all kinds and kept spotlessly. This was more Amaund’s style.

“You ever fight before?” Delmar asked, bringing Amaund back from gazing out of the window.

“Uh, I’ve done mixed martial arts.”

Delmar’s eyebrows seemed to jump up, sitting back against his desktop. “That’s the hardcore stuff. Wait, were you any good at it though?”

Amaund snorted, shrugging. “My siblings and I all did at least one kind of sport when we were younger. I thought I was pretty good.”

“How long has it been since you practiced professionally?”

Amaund thought briefly before cringing. “About… a decade.”

Delmar made a booming laugh. “And I thought  _ I  _ was out of practice,” He waved a well-meaning hand at the other man when Amaund pouted. “Don’t worry about it, though. If you can do mixed martial arts then boxing should be a piece of cake for you.”

He moved around his desk to sit behind it. “I can set you up a training schedule. You got any times that work for you?”

Amaund looked out at the others below them, he needed time to get this guy alone if he wanted to get anything from him. He leaned down to place his hands on the desk in front of him, looking up at the other man through his lashes. “Late. I’m, uh, a little insecure around others when I train.”

“Sure, sure,” Delmar agreed, not even noticing Amaund’s flirtatiousness as he scribbled out times on the notepad in front of him. “I get people like that all the time. But usually, they’re hiding from someone though like a disapproving family member,” Finally, he looked up to meet Amaund’s eyes. “You hiding from someone?”

Cautiously, Amaund scanned over his face but he didn't see any malicious intent, just curiosity. He shook his head. “Not really a big fan of people staring at me while I’m all sweaty and tired.”

No one could miss the way Delmar’s eyes flickered down to the taller man’s lips momentarily, swallowing heavily before quickly looking back down at the notepad.

“We can definitely work with that.”

Amaund smirked. This was going to be the most fun job he’d ever had.

 

Opening the office door, he was greeted by a surprising sight. Bella waiting for him, a lighter air about her, dressed perfectly in whites and creams with her makeup and hair beautifully done. A bag was tucked under her arm and jacket. He offered an arm for her when she wobbled on her feet, helping her to her usual seat across from him.

“It's a little unnerving, not being able to walk across the floor,” She commented.

“Nothing can be so unnerving for someone strong as being weak.”

Bella sat heavily in the chair as if she’d just walked a thousand miles just to end up there. “I was so weak after chemotherapy, Jack had to physically pick me up. It was the second time he carried me across the threshold.”

Huesyth quickly turned to shut the office door he had left open when Bella spoke up again. “I brought you something.”

“A gift?” Huesyth inquired. She motioned to the bag she brought in and he plucked it up, slipping out a small, red display box. Flipping it open, he revealed a French 20-franc gold coin, a proud, fully-plumed rooster displayed on the side facing up.

“Paying my debt,” Bella reminded, a slight tilt to her lips.

“Coq Gaulois,” Huesyth named as he studied the golden rooster’s image. It was beautiful but he couldn’t appreciate it when he knew just what it meant.

“For helping me understand that death is not a defeat, but a cure,” Bella smiled up at him, relieved and open but the doctor’s face dropped as he realized the significance.

Calmly, he closed the display box, moving over to sit across from her again. “What have you taken, Bella?”

“My morphine. Every bit of it,” She smiled again, a loose, dreamy expression, despite the tremble in her voice and the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. He wondered if that was how his own mother looked when she swallowed back the handfuls of pills she had. Crying and shaking but knowing the pain would be over soon. “I didn't want to die at home, laying there for Jack to find me. I didn't want him to make that call... and stay in the room with my body, waiting... for it to become some ceremonial object apart from him, separate from who I was. Someone he can only... hold in his mind.”

“You denied him his goodbye.” Huesyth’s voice didn’t tremble but he thought it did, slightly straightening up in his seat.

Bella’s eyes were drooping, her head becoming too heavy to hold up as she began to drift off. “I denied him... a _ painful _ goodbye. And allowed myself a peaceful one. Tell Jack... I love him very much.”

“Yes,” Huesyth answered, barely above a whisper.

“Goodbye, Dr. Cavalli.”

Her breathing slowed until her eyelids finally slid closed and her body went slack, one last breath is seemingly taken and exhaled. She looked peaceful, all tension in her face or shoulders totally gone. Huesyth remained seated, watching as she slid closer to death with curiosity, in the utter silence of the room.

He softly muttered. “Goodbye, Bella.”

But he leaned back in his seat as if waiting patiently for the life to return to Bella’s body, peering over at the display box he’d left on the side table next to him. Opening it, he removed the coin, turning it over in his nimble fingers as he considered it. A pause before he flipped the coin into the air, catching it in the same hand and observing the outcome.

“ **_You’re a selfish thing, you know,_ ** ” Came a whisper and Huesyth looked up from the coin to find the imaginary Bec leaning over the back of Bella’s chair. He lifted a delicate hand up and pressed it to her pulse before raising an eyebrow up at the doctor. Gesturing to the cabinet across the room with his head, Huesyth knew what the figment wanted to tell him.

Moving quickly, he stood from his chair, pocketing the coin as he walked to one of the cabinets to remove his medical bag. He filled a syringe with liquid from one of the vials in the bag labeled “NALOXONE” before returning to Bella’s side. Gently maneuvering her head he thumbs the side of the syringe, then carefully injects the needle into her neck. Placing the needle aside, he studied the woman as she almost immediately stirred, eye fluttering open as she took in a deep breath.

Even through the confusion of her sudden reawakening, when her eyes met Huesyth’s, she’d realized what he had done. Whispering weakly, Bella mumbled. “No…”

 

He watched from the corner of the hospital room as Jack held on to his wife’s weak grip, kissing her gently, reassuring her that he was there for her. Even with the wires and machines keeping her breathing methodically through the pain, her only focus through her muddled haze was Jack. Until the older agent turned back to him, a silent suggestion to approach, and the doctor stood from his seat.

Bella stirred slightly when she noticed the second presence, staring at him at the edge of her bed and calmly asking with a hoarse voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to apologize. I couldn't honor what you asked of me.” Jack stared at Huesyth too as the doctor made his way around to stand at her other bedside. He bent down to place the gold coin she had given him next to her pillow on the bed, whispering. “I’m sorry.”

With hazy eyes, Bella stared at him briefly, breathing a soft wheezing, before she slapped him across the face with her other hand, hard and sudden. Huesyth face is rocked, not making a sound as he straightened up. She glared up at him, unrepentant as she broke into a coughing fit, Jack coming to her aid to try and calm her.

“Get out,” Bella wheezed harshly to the doctor. “ _ Get out _ .”

Without saying another word, he turned and left the hospital room, the sting of the slap still lingering on his cheek. Before he could escape with his shame though, a voice called after him. “Dr. Cavalli, wait!”

He hesitated in his steps and looked back to find Jack rapidly approaching him, a sympathetic crease between his brows. When the older agent found himself by Huesyth’s side, he sighed with a shake of his head and obviously didn’t know how to respond. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything at all, Jack.” But Huesyth thought bitterly,  _ Please don’t keep me here any longer than I have to be. _

“But I-” He stammered, took in a deep breath and let his eyes fall shut momentarily. “Why? Why did you do it?”

Huesyth could feel his jaw clench painfully tight. It was the situation that he wanted to avoid but there he was, facing off with that biting little bit of his past. Should he lie? Should he brush it off with more wax poetry to confuse the older agent and allow him a moment to slink back into the shadows?

The doctor shook the thoughts away though, swallowing heavily. “My mother died in a similar fashion, suicide by way of overdose. I couldn’t save her then so I… I knew I couldn’t let Bella die.”

He hoped the tightness in his throat wasn’t noticeable. That maybe he was just imagining the quiver of his voice.

But Jack took pity on him and placed a hand on the doctor’s lower arm. “Thank you.”

Huesyth didn’t feel thankful or proud of his actions. He nodded and slid out of the older agent’s grasp, disappearing into the night again.

 

Something was off when he entered his house that dark night. The foyer was the same, the living room was the same but soon he caught the scent of something amiss. Something not meant to be there, the sterilization of the morgue coupled with the lingering remnant of the cornfield the Muralist was in and deodorant to try and cover it all. Leaving all the lights off and being as silent as a shadow, he moved slowly into his kitchen to find the freezer door left standing open, casting a bright artificial light onto the room and illuminating the cellar hatch.

One of the vacuum sealed kidney’s he’d taken from the Muralist was missing from the freezer and cast a dark look into the abyss that the curious Katz had entered. She hadn’t noticed his presence yet, to busy looking ahead on the other side of the basement. She’d found herself in the belly of the beast as she flicked a switch on the wall by her when her handheld flashlight became too little. A series of overhead fluorescent lights flicker on, one by one down the line from her.

“Oh my God,” She whispered softly to herself.

The last overhead light flickered on behind her, illuminating Huesyth where he stood several feet behind her at the entrance to the basement. She slowly noticed the eyes on the back of her, turning to see him there. Briefly, they only stared at each other before, as quick as a blur Huesyth shot over to flip the lights off again at the same time she aimed her gun at him. In the dark, a gun fired, fired again, and fired a third time. A final bullet blasting through the floor of the dining room, splintering the wood in a hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	5. “Mukōzuke”

His performance in the kitchen that had entertained countless numbers of guests fell on blind eyes that morning. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t at least try to give the older agent a beautiful breakfast, one he rightfully deserved after everything that had happened and what  _ will _ happen. He plated all of the ingredients expertly, placing the dish at the table where he found Jack standing at the glass doors to Huesyth’s garden. A thousand-yard stare, looking nowhere specific, still wearing the rumbled suit from the night before.

The doctor placed a friendly hand on the agent’s shoulder, startling him out of his daze. “You have to eat something, Jack. You've been up all night,” The agent finally turns, staring at the food on the table in front of him as Huesyth sits at his own setting. “Feed the body, feed the mind.”

Slowly, Jack sat heavily in his seat, not touching his food. “She knew she couldn't beat the cancer, so she... decided to beat it to the finish line. I suppose I can't blame her for wanting to control how she dies.”

“I believe those who can no longer function at an acceptable level have the right to die,” Huesyth explained as he took a bite of the eggs he’d prepared.

“She cast you as an executioner,” Jack mumbled. “She wanted to die. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you didn't allow it to happen and… I’m sorry if the experience brought back any difficult memories of your mother.”

The older agent was struggling with every fiber of his being to keep his emotions at bay. Huesyth waved off the last comment and continued after sipping from his coffee. “As a doctor, I had no choice. As a philosopher, I had too many. It wasn't what I could do for Bella, it was what I couldn't do to you, Jack. I guess I'm a better friend than therapist.”

“You’re a great friend, Huesyth,” Jack praised as he too drank from his offered cup.

 

His breathing had tightened, his chest feeling like it was seconds away from exploding but he kept his face almost neutral except for the glitches of despair that leaked through. Jack and Alana sat across from him, the older agent’s mouth still moving but he wasn’t listening to the words he spoke anymore. As they talked at him, Bec turned his head to the side to look at the figment standing in front of the privacy room’s window who wasn’t supposed to be there.

Beverly. She cocked her head slightly at him, curious.

Numb with shock, he quickly averted his gaze from the figment of his imagination. “I want to see her.”

 

He was lowered from the wheelchair lift of the hospital’s van, strapped down from neck to toe to an upright wheelchair they used to cart him around. His arms strapped to his torso in a dark straight jacket with a clear plastic bite guard mask wrapped around his head. His hot breath caused puffs of condensation to appear on the mask, making it sticky and more uncomfortable than it already was.

A distance away, actually on the other side of the police line, was Freddie Lounds, her iconic red hair a dead give away even with the long lens camera covering her face. When she saw him looking dead on at her over the mask, she lowered the camera enough to glare back at him.

The team of guards and orderlies that drove Bec there wheeled him inside of the familiar observatory and his eyes immediately fell on the vertical slices of Beverly’s body. Cut down the middle with the other half being cut into five thinner slices, all encased in glass sheets like a crude biology exhibit.

“Leave us alone,” Jack demanded of the remaining crew. “Let's go!”

They all scattered, shuffling out of the room but Bec kept his horrified eyes on Beverly. Jack came to stand in front of him, finally giving him something else to stare at instead of his dead friend. The older agent began cautiously unshackling Bec from the wheelchair. The heavy straps around his body fell away and the cuffs on each of his ankles until Jack grabbed Bec’s strapped arms and yanked him out of his partially leaned back position so that he was standing on his own feet. The agent forced him around to undo the back of the straight jacket and let the heavy material fall from his arms.

Jack held him steady as he cautiously undid the straps holding the mask to the empath’s face, carefully pulling it off his face. He was finally free. None of this was done out of trust for the empath however as Jack kept his gun trained on Bec the entire time. The younger man wasn’t bothered though as he began stepping around the glass enclosures of Beverly’s body, the echoing dull drip of water and blood leaking from the slices filling the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw as Jack silently left the room as well.

Alone with the body, he tried to swallow his emotions and close his eyes to see just what happened but something pulled inside him.  _ He couldn’t do this _ . Bec ran his hands down his face as his breathing went ragged with the force of choking down a sob.

“You said you interpret the evidence,” Beverly said, his hands slipping away from his eyes to see the woman standing by his side, regarding her dead self as he was. “So interpret the evidence.”

He blinked and just like that he was alone in the observatory again. Taking a deep, steadying breath, his eyes slid shut.

The pendulum, as bright as it always was in the darkness of his mind, swung and Beverly’s body slowly put itself back together, slice by slice until she was a solid person again.

_ The killer approached her in the darkness but Bec raised a hand to her throat as he stared, brushing her hair back, not bringing himself to actually touch her. He had to though because the killer did. Moving cautiously around to stand behind her, the hand floating above her throat came down to grab a hold of her. Suddenly, she started to struggle against him, trying to claw at the arm restricting her throat. _

“I strangle Beverly Katz…”  _ She stared back at the killer as the breath began to leave her lungs. _ “Looking into her eyes. She knows me and I know her. I expertly squeeze the life from her... quickly rendering her unconscious.”

_ Beverly went limp in the killer’s arms, sliding out of them to land on the floor at his feet. In a flash, ice had formed in her hair, she stared lifelessly up at the ceiling instead of at the buzzsaw going down the middle of her body. _

“I freeze the body... preserving her shape and form so I can more cleanly dismantle her. She cuts like stone. I pull her apart, layer by layer…”  _ He stood opposite of the body watching the slices come together, they accordion outward just as they had been discovered.  _ “Like she would a crime scene. This is my design.”

_ The killer stared at the slices, the work he’d done.  _ “I will leave no usable evidence,”  _ A shadow moved behind the glass slices, the shape of dark antlers passing before the light. _ “But she did find something no one else has. She found me.”  _ The wendigo moved horrifyingly close to the ground, dragging itself along the floor with its dark, long tail trailing behind it as it gave a guttural hiss.  _ “But anything else she found is already gone.”

_ As it reached the other side of Beverly’s body, the wendigo rose up on its tail as if standing to its full height to tower over the empath, staring blankly as Bec unraveled his thoughts.  _ “What did I take from her?”

_ The onyx abomination slithered up to him and leaned down to hover over his eye level, its emotionless eyes giving away nothing. Bec took a stuttering breath through his nose as he glared at the beast and uttered.  _ “What did  _ you  _ take from her?”

_ Offended by the empath’s accusations, the wendigo hissed in his face, its mouth opening to reveal sharp and curved fangs, dripping with venom, flicking its forked tongue. He finally closed his eyes _ , a tear making its way down his cheek when he opened them again to see the daylight streaming into the observatory. The wendigo nowhere in sight but Jack was moving back into the room.

“It's the Chesapeake Ripper,” Jack stated matter-of-factly.

“It's the Ripper and the Copycat,” Bec mumbled, wiping the tear from his face. “It's the same killer but with different masks... Beverly helped me see it.”

The older agent approached him to stand by his side, neither of them looking at each other. “Help me see it too.”

“She was looking for a connection between the Copycat and the Ripper,” Bec admitted.

“You think she found it?” Jack questioned.

“She found something… she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t,” Bec added, pausing briefly before asking. “Where were you last night?”

Averting his eyes, Jack answered. “In the hospital with my wife.”

The empath considered that briefly, that’s why she went alone. “I told Beverly to go to you, tell you everything she knew. Instead, she went looking for evidence. She met the Ripper last night, Jack. She... she will be... missing organs. He had to take his trophies.”

“Who is he, Bec?” Jack pressed.

Finally, Bec turned to look at the older agent, his old boss. “Beverly made her connection to the Ripper. You have to make your own, Jack.”

“Then what did I bring you here for?”

The empath’s lip quivered as he fought for a decent answer but he glanced back over his shoulder at his dead friend. “...T-To say goodbye.”

 

“Would you like to talk about what happened at the observatory?”

He was ready to scream until he was sedated and brought back to his cell. Talking to anyone felt like a waste of time or even a death sentence but maybe the Ripper would target Chilton next. Maybe then the empath wouldn’t have to deal with listening to him.

Bec stared into the middle distance, past Chilton’s chattering face, unresponsive until finally breaking the silence. “You discussed my therapy with Huesyth Cavalli, Frederick.  _ Counter _ to our agreement.”

“I gave him a peek before I snatched down the shades,” Chilton defended but the empath narrowed his eyes.

“I have appearances to maintain.”

“Beverly Katz paid you a visit before she was murdered,” Chilton began, ripping off the metaphorical bandaid. “What did the two of you discuss?”

It made Bec straighten up slightly, bristling at its brashness, and he grimaced at the other man. “What, you weren't listening to that one?”

“You met her in the privacy room. It is the only room in the facility I am not legally allowed to monitor.”

“And you let that stop you?” The empath stifled a scoff as he looked down at the floor to his cage. Practically burning a hole through the metal at that point. “We talked about the Chesapeake Ripper and then she went and found him.”

“Psychopaths can be indifferent to those sorts of setbacks,” Chilton explained like Bec didn’t know already. “I know something of the monster you are dealing with. He is a well-educated man. A socially competent man. He has surgical experience or, at the very least, know-how.”

“Your professional opinion doesn’t hold much water. You thought that Abel Gideon was the Chesapeake Ripper,” Bec countered, looking up to meet eyes with the man across from him.

“Evidently, I was wrong about that,” Chilton said with a shrug.

Throwing the doctor a line, Bec finally offered. “Gideon knows who the Ripper is.”

“And I suppose you do, too,” Chilton said with a quirked eyebrow.

It was Bec’s turn to shrug, the line he’d thrown now being used to toy with the other man but it was working in reeling him in. “Wouldn't it be interesting if we both said it was the same man?”

A slow smirk pulled at the corner of Chilton’s mouth as he nodded. “Yes, it would.”

“It's a shame we can't talk to Abel Gideon about the Chesapeake Ripper. Well, just think, Frederick, you could be the one who catches him after all.”

 

Amaund paced the length of the boxing ring, arms idly swinging as breathed heavy, awaiting Delmar’s return. The man in question pulled himself back onto the platformed ring, tossing the bottled water he left to retrieve into the air and catching it gracefully after it spun.

“Here you go, buddy,” The shorter man offered, holding the water out for Amaund.

Gratefully, Amaund swiped it from Delmar’s hand with a thankful nod, downing a large gulp of it as his chest still rose and fell with exertion.

Delmar made a breathy chuckle at him, also feeling out of breath from their work out as sweat slid down his forehead and the well-trained muscles of his arms.

“Been a while?” Delmar teased, giving a playful lopsided smirk.

With a raised eyebrow, Amaund huffed. “It’s been long enough. I swear to god I work out almost daily.”

“Well, guess you’re not doing it the boxing way,” Delmar quipped. “Why’d you want to pick up boxing anyway? Seems strange to put it off for so long and just pick up a brand new form of fighting out of the blue, you know?”

Amaund nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I don’t know. It’s just I’m new in town and I wanted to try something new while I still have the energy for it. I mean I’m forty-one and I think I’m about to hit my mid-life crisis.”

That pulled a hearty laugh from the shorter man. “That’s nothing. I’m forty-three and I’ve already had my crisis when I was like twenty… Or was it when I was seventeen? I don’t even know.”

They laughed together, untethered by burdens and, for a brief moment, Amaund forgot why he was there. When he remembered he quickly cleared his throat and straightened up slightly. “You wanna spar with me?”

Intrigued, Delmar quirked an eyebrow at the taller man. “‘Spar’? What are you gonna do? Flip me over or something?”

“Only if you want me to,” Amaund added with a quirked brow of his own, smirking when the shorter man’s gaze averted immediately. “Please, I still remember some mixed martial arts moves I can show you.”

Delmar paused briefly, narrowing his eyes at the other man. “Am I gonna get hurt?”

“I… More than likely. Not any more than your usual, I’m sure but you’ll probably be walking away bleeding a bit,” The shorter man rolled his eyes with a groan but Amaund cut him off. “I’ll try not to hurt you permanently, okay?”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Delmar relented with a laugh.

Amaund clapped joyfully as the shorter man crossed to the other side of the ring, setting his stance and facing Amaund with his feet planted firmly.

Using his long legs to his advantage, Amaund moved quickly, running forward and utilizing the small space fully by jumping before Delmar could grab him. Swinging upwards and wrapping his thighs around the shorter man’s shoulders and tackling him to the ground, flipping them over so he could sit on his chest. Delmar grunted with the force of hitting the mat of the ring so quickly.

“That all you got, big boy?” Amaund mocked to the form below him but his victory was short lived.

Delmar grabbed at Amaund’s right arm and twisted it behind his back so that he could tackle the other arm fully and Amaund off of his chest, the taller man hissing from the pain. The shorter man drew up his knees and pulled Amaund closer before knocking the air out of him by extending his legs sharply and flipping Amaund onto his back. Delmar’s hands immediately shooting up to grip Amaund’s wrists. Their roles were reversed, Delmar laying on top of Amaund now with his arms pinned to the mat under him.

“Now is that all  _ you _ got, big boy?” Delmar shot back at him. “Those legs of yours can only do so much for you.”

“Touche,” Amaund huffed breathlessly with a smile as Delmar dug his knee into his hip, gaining a chuckle from the shorter man. Amaund’s fingers twitched against the mat, cueing Delmar to release his hands.

“Are you gonna let go?” Amaund shifted against the friction of Delmar’s weight against his hips.

Instead, Delmar smiled mischievously down at the other man, locking his knees in place and anchoring Amaund to the mat more firmly. His smile widened as a strangled moan of suppressed pleasure escaped Amaund’s lips. Heat crawled up to Amaund’s cheeks and Delmar leaned forward so that his lips brushed against Amaund’s ear.

“You like that?” Delmar asked, his voice dropping low and hoarse.

Amaund smothered a shiver, swallowing a breathy sound as he let Delmar’s fingertips trail down his toned arms in smooth ghosting movements.

“Yeah,” Amaund whispered out. “That’s… that’s good.”

Delmar made a small sound of slight relief in the back of his throat before ghosting his lips over the column of Amaund’s neck, not yet pressing kisses as his hot breath warmed Amaund’s already fevered skin.

The shorter man’s grip loosened and Amaund slipped his wrists out of his grip, wrapping them around the other’s neck but didn’t let it get far. Rearing back and slamming his forehead into the bridge of Delmar’s nose before he threw all his weight into flipping Delmar over again. Nearly slamming Delmar’s body back onto the mat, resting his own weight on his knee that he planted near the other man’s side.

“Don’t lose your concentration, baby,” Amaund hissed, pulling up to stand above the other.

He marched around the mat with his hands on his hips and listened to Delmar chuckle breathlessly to himself, blood trickling down his face from his nose as a bright red welt began forming where Amaund’s head connected with his. On unsteady legs, Delmar forced himself up to stand as well, obviously still slightly delirious from the hit.

He shouldn’t have let the other man touch him like that, Delmar was sweet and attractive but Amaund wasn’t here for a hookup. He wasn’t here for himself and he mentally chastised himself for being so into him.

“I’m really sorry, Amaund,” Delmar drawled, his tongue coming out to swipe at the blood staining his face. The taller man swallowed heavily at the sight, his dick twitching traitorously in his drawstring sweatpants. “We-  _ I _ don’t usually do that, I swear. I don’t know what came over me.”   
Acting like he wasn’t affected, Amaund cracked the stiff bones in his neck. “I really hope you don’t use that kind of technique on all of your sparring partners.”

Delmar smirked knowingly, running the tip of his tongue over his lips again, flashing a bit of his fang-like canines. “Well you never know. It gets really hot in here when you’re working so close together.”

Suddenly, Amaund stopped his pacing, staring blankly at the other until he quirked an eyebrow and let his arms fall loosely to his sides. Delmar went to probably say another quip but Amaund shot forward again. He didn’t even register moving until he was throwing a fist towards Delmar’s face. The other man was fast though, dipping back and out of the fist’s path before Amaund sent a foot into the dead center of his stomach and sent him flying back.

Delmar caught himself on the ropes around the ring before he ended up back on the mat and barely missed another foot being kicked at his face. That foot touched the mat again and Amaund spun to try the next but Delmar’s hand shot out to catch the taller man by the ankle. He was pulled by the ankle until he hit the mat, Amaund’s brain rattled, throbbing uncomfortably but he saw Delmar’s form moving in his blurry vision. So he rolled to the side and barely missed having a fist slammed into his face.

He hopped up before Delmar could and slammed the heel of his foot into the side of Delmar’s head, far harder than he needed too.

Amaund froze as Delmar spit a mouthful of blood out onto the boxing ring under him, his hand closing over his mouth in shock before he rushed to the other man’s side.

“Delmar! Shit- God, I am so sorry!” Amaund fussed, rolling the shorter man onto his back as Delmar coughed and hacked. “Hey! Hey... are you alright?”

When the coughing began to subside, Delmar nodded his head slightly, peering up at the other as Amaund hovered over him. “You are a scary son of a bitch,” Delmar mumbled, rubbing at his aching jaw.

Amaund gave a shaky sigh and ran a hand soothingly through the other’s dark hair, checking for any immediately noticeable injuries as he went. “I’m sorry, Delmar. That was too much.”

Delmar shrugged and stretched out his back like a cat as his bones popped almost collectively. “Eh, don’t worry about it, man. I’m fine,”

They stared at each other for an extended heartbeat, Amaund’s eyes flicking down to Delmar’s bloodstained lips before Delmar surged up. 

Grabbing Amaund by the shoulders, he got him into a hold and flipped them over. Relieved and yet somehow even more frustrated, they began to grapple and fight each other for control, rolling around and panting loudly as they try one-upping each other again and again. When Delmar tried to get him on his back, Amaund grunted up at him and repositioned his grip to flip the brunette man off. Baring his teeth, he lunged at Delmar again and wrestled both wrists into his hands, pinning them on either side of Delmar’s head just as the other man had done to him.

Their faces were so close that Amaund could feel Delmar’s breath washing over his face, feel the waves of heat coming off of him. Slowly tilting his chin down, he looked between their bodies to where he was straddling Delmar’s hips.

Faintly, he heard Delmar pant. “Sorry... for grabbing at you, Amaund.”

But when he tried to break free from the taller man’s grip and shamefully force their bodies apart, Amaund tightened the hold on his wrists and slammed them back down against the mat. Looking back at Delmar’s face, he searched the other man’s eyes and experimentally ground down against the growing bulge straining against Delmar’s leg. Caught off guard, Delmar swallowed a gasp as his lips parted, body jolting beneath him.

“ _ Fuck _ , Amaund…” He moaned softly.

The sound of his name whispered out like a prayer from a desperate man sent heat shooting down his spine. Amaund worried his bottom lip between his teeth, releasing Delmar’s wrists and running his hands over the shorter man’s broad shoulders and down his chest as Amaund sat upright. He curled his hands into loose fists against Delmar’s chest, bunching up the dark material of his tank top before rolling his hips down again and provoking another gasp, another choked moan.

“Amaund- fuck,  _ please _ ...” Delmar probably would’ve continued with his aimless begging if Amaund didn’t cut him off with a question.

“Is anyone else here?”

Delmar looked up at him curiously before quickly shaking his head. About to question the taller man’s intentions when Amaund reached for the hem of his own shirt and pulled it slowly up and over his head. Definitely making a show of it as each inch of skin was revealed.

Eyes going cartoonishly wide, Delmar was still flushed from the fighting but now he had turned practically crimson as his eyes drug over every available inch of Amaund’s now bare, sculpted torso. Amaund made sure to go slow in dropping the shirt to their side and then stretching back to brush a hand through his hair. His muscles flexing as he pulled the long strands back and out of the way to reveal the line of his neck. He peeked back down to the shorter man, who was watching his movements intensely but not doing much else.

“Delmar,” Amaund whispered. “I want you to touch me.”

With that confirmation, Delmar hesitantly lifted his hands and rested them on the taller man’s hips, picking at the low hanging edge of Amaund’s sweatpants.

Bashfully, Amaund chuckled, gently taking Delmar’s wrists and pulling his large hands up his exposed abdomen, leaving a trail of warmth against his skin. He studied Delmar’s reactions to make sure he wasn’t pushing either of their boundaries but all he could register was how Delmar bit into his bottom lip before he too sat up straight.

They looked at each other for a moment, faces inches away from each other as they sat chest to chest before Amaund slowly slid a hand into Delmar’s soft hair and pressed their lips together. Tasting nothing but the salt tang of sweat and the metallic bite of blood.

 

He didn’t think it would actually be that easy to press Chilton’s buttons but there he was sitting in the cage next to Gideon barely a day later. It was far from how they’d met.

“Mr. Reyes,” Gideon began, Bec not turning to face him even though he felt the other man’s eyes on him. “You always did look like the boy next door. Is it true you ate that poor Hobbs girl?”

The empath blinked. “You can call me Bec now that we're of equal social standing.”

Lowering his head slightly, Gideon sighed. “Is this Frederick's idea of punishment? Group therapy with the man who tried to kill me.”

“No,” Bec answered firmly. “I'd like to talk to you about the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“Thought I was the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Bec stifled a scoff at the ridiculous suggestion that even Gideon didn’t sound like he believed. “No, you’re the pretender to the throne.”

“What did you offer Frederick to bring me back?” Gideon questioned, ignoring Bec’s line of thought. “I'm the last person he wants to see. I give him a visceral chill in the guts. Whatever's left of them.”

“You know who the Chesapeake Ripper is,” Bec cut in again, growing tired of the mental run around he was being given. “You've  _ met  _ him.”

The empath’s reasoning seemed to have clicked in Gideon’s head. “So Frederick gets to catch the Ripper after all. What do you get?”

Bec paused, forcing down his growing frustration with Gideon’s deflections, turning in his cage to face the other man. He lowered his voice, extending some kind of lifeline to Gideon despite his distrust of the empath. “I remember that night at Dr. Cavalli's. The night I brought you there.”

“The night you tried to kill me.”

“Yes, how do you think I found you?” Bec whispered harshly. “He sent me to kill you, Abel.”

Gideon blinked once before he narrowed his eyes across the way at the empath. “Am I your evidence? Oh, you're in trouble, Mr. Reyes.”

“Why would you protect him?” Bec puzzled.

“You were quite happy to try and kill me  _ yourself. _ You have it ‘in you,’ as they say,” Gideon turned away from the empath, facing forward again in his cage. “He is the Devil, Mr. Reyes. He is smoke. You'll never ‘catch the Ripper. He won't be caught. If you want him... you will have to kill him.”

Slowly, Bec turned back as well, mulling over Gideon’s words until he muttered simply. “Fair enough.”

 

At first, Huesyth questioned just how the empath managed to convince Chilton to bring Abel Gideon back to the Baltimore State Hospital. It seemed as unlikely as any of them finding out just what happened to the late Beverly’s lost kidneys. But then the smarmy doctor found his way into Huesyth’s office, dangling Bec’s recovered memories over Huesyth’s head like he owed him something. He thought he had so much control of Huesyth because of a few scattered memories, the thought made his blood boil.

He had his uses, though. Especially when Huesyth countered that Chilton had taken his patient so it only made sense that the taller man should take Chilton’s. It didn’t take much more convincing until he was granted exactly what he wished for.

The next day, Gideon stood in his cage, eyeing Huesyth critically as he approached, standing next to the offered chair a few feet away from the cage. The patient smiled, more to amused with himself than anything else. “You don't need to stand way over there. I'm a cutter, not a pisser.”

Cautiously, the taller man stepped over the white line. “Hello, Dr. Gideon.”

“Our brains devote more space to reading the details of faces than any other object,” Gideon expressed, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Dare I say, I've never seen yours before.”

A wave of relief seemed to hit Huesyth all at once and he took another step closer.  _ He doesn’t remember or he’s a liar. _ “I'm Doctor Huesyth Cavalli. I was Bec Reyes's psychiatrist.”

“Well, he's not a very good advertisement for your abilities, Dr. Cavalli,” Gideon reminded him and Huesyth offered nothing in the form of a reaction.

“That remains to be seen.”

Gideon grinned at the other man as he scanned over his face. “Oh, I bet you're a devil at the bridge table. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Huesyth offered a small smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“But now I know your name, of course, I am aware of you by reputation and I see why Chilton both reveres and resents you. Esteem of any sort in psychiatric circles still eludes him, yet it clings to you like soap to a baby's eyes. He very much wants to be you.”

Without breaking the gaze he held, Huesyth cocked his head slightly, curiously. “He should be more careful what he wishes for.”

They were like two rival animals sizing each other up from different sides of the boundary lines. Trying to distinguish who was stronger or at least who would last the longest.

“And you should have been more careful with Bec Reyes,” Gideon quipped, twisting the knife. “That young man has got a bone to pick.”

“As a therapist, I'm more concerned with finding ways of overcoming resistance. Not building it up.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow at the other man. “Well, you’ve built up something, Dr. Cavalli.”

Moments later, he was still mulling over Gideon’s words as he exited the hospital but was brought out of his own head by the clicking shudder of a camera. Freddie was stationed at the foot of the steps, snapping shots of Huesyth as he exited the building.

He paused in his steps. “That was rude, Miss Lounds.”

“Did you really think I was above that sort of thing?” She questioned as she slipped her camera back into her bag. “Hm... you seem disappointed.”

“We evolved the ability to communicate disappointment to teach those around us good manners.”

Freddie stepped forward up the stairs, coming to a stop in front of him. “Unfortunately, I did not evolve the ability to feel shame.”

“You should explore that in therapy.”

“I saw a psychiatrist once and it was under false pretenses,” Freddie reminded with a tip of her head.

He gave a small smirk as he buttoned up his overcoat, returning his attention to the petite woman. “Happy to entertain you for a more genuine conversation. So, what brings you to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane?”

“I am interviewing Bec Reyes,” Freddie claimed. “At his request. Imagine that.”

Huesyth is taken aback, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’m trying.”

 

The privacy door was opened by one of the orderlies, Matthew Brown, one Bec knew with short, dark hair and high cheekbones.

“I’ll be right outside,” The orderly told the red-headed reporter following behind him.

“I know the drill,” Freddie told the orderly before the door closed behind her and instead of sitting, she threw her coat over the chair. “It's good to see you again, Bec. Let me rephrase that. It is good to see you in  _ here _ . Where you belong.”

“Thank you for coming,” Bec said simply.

“Why am I here?” Freddie demanded.

“I have an admirer,” Bec cut in before chuckling softly. “And he seems to fit your demographic.”

Freddie leaned on the back of her chair. “My demographic is murderers and people who are obsessed with murderers-” “I'm talking about the man who killed the bailiff and the judge at my trial.”

She raised an eyebrow at him with a nod. “Ah. And you think he's your admirer?” Finally, she sat across the table from him, interested in what he had to say.

Not one to disappoint, Bec was allowed a moment to explain. “He killed the bailiff to give me an alibi. He killed the judge because he threw that alibi out.”

“So is your admirer crazy?” Freddie puzzled.

“I don't think anybody as careful as he is could be crazy. I thin-I think he's _ different _ . Maybe a lot of people believe him to be crazy, and the reason for that is, he hasn't let people understand much about him.”

“But  _ you  _ understand him,” Freddie asserted, leaning forward in her seat. “Are you trying to catch him or contact him?”

Bec gave a joyless laugh, leaning forward to match Freddie’s position. “I would like to establish a line of communication and your website seems like a good place to do that.”

The redhead nodded along. “I could open it up for you. Ads, editorial, online chat rooms, monitoring incoming mail. I could be discreet.”

He scoffed softly. “In exchange for?”

“Exclusive rights to your story.”

Bec stared across the table at her, considering the redhead’s offer before realizing that his ‘story’ doesn’t really mean much to him anymore. Leaning back in his chair, he gave in. “It's all yours, Freddie.”

She smiled, studying his reaction. “You want to talk to your admirer, we'll have to send an invitation.”

 

He never really thought that the hospital could get any darker or any more like a stereotype of the terrifying asylums popularised in horror movies. But sitting back in his therapy cage while they inspected his cell, night descended on the building like a thick blanket, he realized that his entire life was basically one long horror movie.

“Would you like a book, Mr. Reyes?” The orderly asked, standing nearby as Bec waited in his cage.

“I have my imagination,” Bec assured, about to drift back into his own mind when the orderly began speaking again.

“I read your TattleCrime interview. You're a very articulate man. I agreed with a lot of what you said... You're right. People don't understand much about me. Or about you. But at least we understand each other.” Matthew drew closer to the cage as Bec narrowed his eyes at him, he spoke more quietly. “There's something we don't have. Or maybe we just evolved not to need. You were hiding in the FBI. That's a talent. If you hadn't gotten sick, they never would've found you.”

The empath felt like he was being circled by a shark while he was stuck in a tiny cage at the bottom of the deep, blue sea. The claustrophobic crushing weight of realization bearing down on him but he didn’t let Matthew see it. He couldn’t let him see it because the Chesapeake Ripper wouldn’t

“You found a great place to hide,” Bec finally complimented, looking up at the orderly as he moved around the cage.

“Spend time in a mental hospital, you start to pick up the drill. You could pass as an orderly, get a job doing it when you get out,” Matthew leaned closer to whisper with a smirk, proud of his achievements. “They may never know you were in.”

“Obviously you realize Chilton records every word that’s said in here.”

“Who do you think wired the mics?” Matthew questioned, slipping his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat. “Or unwired the mics, as they currently are.”

Bec scoffed softly. “You killed the bailiff during my trial.”

“I thought it would exonerate you,” The orderly shrugged. “I had read your file often enough. Easy to recreate your work. It was... so  _ specific _ . Though the bailiff was a bitch to get on that stag's head.”

The empath suppressed a cringe. “And the judge?”

“I killed the bailiff. The judge was... somebody else.”

Matthew’s ring of keys jingled loudly as he removed it from his coat pocket, using it to unlock the padlock on the front of Bec’s cage and allowing the door to swing open. Cautiously, the empath stood and took a single step outside of the cage before taking a complete breath and moving out of the confining box. Matthew held a hand over his mouth as he watched the shorter man exit the cage as if releasing a beloved pet into the wild. Bec stepped away from the bars, looking up at the high windows while Matthew swung the cage door closed behind him with a clang.

“Why are you trying to help me?” Bec asked without looking back at the orderly.

“Have you seen the way that smaller birds will mob a hawk on a wire? You and me, we are hawks, Mr. Reyes.”

“Hawks are solitary,” Bec corrected over his shoulder.

“And that's their weakness,” Matthew proclaimed, the empath could sense as the man began to approach him from behind to put handcuffs on Bec’s wrists. “Enough of those smaller birds get together, and they chase hawks away. Imagine if the hawks started working together.”

The walk back to his cell was a quiet one, it gave him time to consider all that Matthew had told him and he realized, through his horror, that he really wasn’t a killer. Bec wasn’t a cold-hearted, manipulative murderer but  _ Huesyth _ was and the man holding his arms and guiding him down the cell block was. It made him sick to admit that he needed one of them to kill the worst of them. Send a demon to kill the Devil.

“Why did you want to talk to me?” Matthew whispered, motioning to the guards at the end of the hall to open the cell door for him.

“I need a favor,” Bec explained, moving into the cell and allowing the door to shut behind him while Matthew removed his cuffs through the bars.

“I'm always happy to do a favor for a friend. Just say the words.”

Bec turned to him, staring through the bars at the other man before moving even closer to them, wrapping his hands loosely around the metal. The orderly couldn’t help but be drawn closer as well, eyes flicking down to the empath’s lips almost unconsciously.

The shorter man whispered quietly through the bars. “I want you to kill Huesyth Cavalli.”

A slow smile spread across the orderly’s face when the orders set in, he pocketed the keys and finally stepped back away from the bars to walk out of sight.

 

Sitting on his bed that night, Bec found that his mind wasn’t unburdened by the prospect of Huesyth’s death. His head hung low on his shoulders as thoughts bounced around in his head, fighting down the waves of panic and sickness that the conversation with the orderly spawned. Flashes of Hobbs’ dying face flickered through his mind and a nagging voice in his head didn’t understand why he felt so disgusted with himself about it. He  _ was _ a killer. He even admitted how good it felt to pull the trigger that day. How is this cannibalistic serial killer who murdered his friend any different from the one who murdered all those innocent girls?

Maybe because Hobbs threw his bleeding wife onto the front porch to die in Bec’s arms? Or the fact that Bec ran in to watch him slice his own daughter’s throat? With Huesyth, Bec let the man buy him expensive things, wine and dine and impress him until they found themselves tumbling happily into bed together. Even finding himself pregnant with the doctor’s child. The two couldn’t have been more different.

As his thoughts seemingly were at war with each other, Bec jerked his head in an attempt to pop the tense bones in his neck. When the ache didn’t diminish, he ran a careful hand over the back of his neck to find an abnormal bump in his skin. Confusedly, his hand moved further and found a similar bump lower down. With hurried hands, the empath jerked the zipper of his jumpsuit top down, pulling his arms out of the sleeves so he could yank off the issued shirt underneath.

He rubbed at the now bare skin of his back, glancing back over his shoulder to find a long line of black spikes protruding through his flesh, growing steadily as pain shot up his back. Doubling over in pain, Bec stumbled onto his hands and knees on the floor of his cell as the spines grew. On the floor in front of him was a shadow cast in the shape of a rack of antlers protruding out of his skull.

“Bec?” Someone asked.

Bec’s head whipped to the side in the direction of the voice to find Alana standing on the other side of the bars. He wasn’t doubled over on the floor with grotesque antlers sprouting out of his spine but was instead still sitting on his bed.

Alana furrowed her brow at him in barely concealed concern. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Bec replied as if nothing had happened.

“I'm sorry to drop in unannounced like this,” Alana offered.

The empath cocked his head to the side. “What's on your mind, Dr. Bloom?”

“You,” She answered truthfully. “You gave an interview to Freddie Lounds. You despise Freddie Lounds. It just seemed, um…”

“What, suspicious?” Bec finished with a casual smile, a facade of innocence just like how all of his enemies saw him.

‘ _ Enemies _ ’. The Bec from months ago didn’t have ‘enemies’. He may have pissed people off with his lack of a verbal filter and superior intelligence but he didn’t have people specifically gunning for him, ready to debase his life and drag him into Hell at the drop of a pin. Now he was paranoid about everyone in his life, anyone could be an enemy.

“And slightly worrying,” Alana added with a raised eyebrow.

He broke eye contact with the woman, couldn’t bare looking her in the eye and lying to her on purpose. “You don't have to worry about me.”

She looked at him like he was a little-broken bird in his cage, wanting desperately to fix him but not knowing how anymore. He’s glad that someone else was just as confused but the situation as he was.

“I know you feel powerless about what happened to Beverly, and you want to do something about it.”

“Would that be so bad?” Bec questioned. The argument in his head stopped briefly, awaiting her answer.

But Alana gave a confused expression to the empath, not understanding what he was asking. “Depends on what you're thinking about doing. But there's no solution to grief, Bec. It just is.”

“Beverly died because of me,” Bec expressed, still mentally kicking himself for ever getting her involved with his personal vengeance trip. “Because she listened to me. I'm not gonna let that happen again.”

She stared at him through the bars and soon the confusion dispersed and veered more into shock. “Bec, what have you done?”

The empath paused, thinking there was no time to backtrack out of this now and instead relented. “Just what I had to do.”

Bec’s head drops back into his hands and he could feel Alana’s face staring at him as he tried to breathe through the panic until she finally stepped away and disappeared down the hall.

 

Powerful arms cut through the water of the pool, practically glowing like pristine glass from the lights below the water, blue shimmers dancing across the walls from the reflection of the ripples. He was sure he was alone as swam his laps in the private club’s large pool until another shape moved in the lane next to him, keeping pace before whipping ahead of him, fast enough that the doctor couldn’t see where it went.

Reaching the edge of the pool, Huesyth stopped, wiping the water from his eyes as he turned to size up his overly-competitive swim partner. The water around him was empty, no signs of anyone else having entered the pool after him. Seconds later, pain shot through his shoulder and the doctor jerked at the sting. He whipped around, grasping at the dart now sticking out of his back only to look up at the man standing above, dripping wet and holding the tranquilizer gun in his face. His vision began to blur as he pulled the dart free, already feeling its effects and uselessly grabbing at the edge of the pool only to miss.

He faded quickly, fighting to keep his head above water until it became too difficult and he was pulled under the water.

 

The white-tiled space of a large steam room stretched out in front him, along with a raised set of steps at one end. Grand and ornate. Heavy steam hung in the air, softening and dilating everything.

A dark red stream ran in front of him, leaking into the central drain in the floor. The blood came from the vertical deep cuts in his wrists, bound with duct tape to a broken mop handle running across his back, arms outstretched. He stood on an unstable bucket, rising shakily on the tips of his toes as the noose around his neck pulled him taut. His feet shuffled precariously on the bucket as tried to keep his balance.

“Judas had the decency to hang himself in shame at his betrayal,” The man started, now dressed but covering his torso with only a jacket and his dart gun remained tucked into the waistband. “But I thought you needed a little help.”

Blood spattered on the marble. The doctor was losing the fight to stay conscious, he wobbled but regained his balance.

“Did you know that the phrase ‘to kick the bucket’ came from exactly this situation? You could kick it out right now yourself and it'd all be over. A lot quicker than bleeding out.”

The man stood, stepping over to his bag to pull out a knife. Huesyth murmured through the tight rope closing around his throat. “You're a nurse at the hospital. You're setting a new standard of care,” The orderly didn’t look up as he checked his assortment of weapons. “Bec Reyes is not what you think. He isn’t a murderer.”

“He is now,” The man shared, giving a mock bow to himself. “By proxy.”

Huesyth grunted, sucking in a wheeze. “He asked you to do this?”

“What are friends for?” The orderly expressed as he passed in front of the doctor. Huesyth had to admit, he was impressed by Bec’s moxie. Could this be the reckoning that the empath had promised him? “Now I'm going to ask you a few yes or no questions while you still have enough blood coursing through your brain to answer them. You ready?”

Huesyth hesitated, gathering himself before whispering. “Ready.”

The orderly looked closely at the doctor’s pale face. “Did you kill that judge?”

Huesyth stared quietly but that was apparently enough for the orderly to hear ‘yes’. “I can ask you yes-or-no questions, you don't have to say a word, and I'll know what the answer is. The pupil dilates with specific mental efforts,” The man stepped up onto the same level as Huesyth glared down at him. “You dilate, that's a ‘yes’. No dilation equals ‘no’. Are you the Chesapeake Ripper?”

Huesyth’s face twitched and a grin split over the orderly’s face, sharp as a knife. “How many times have you watched someone cling on to a life that's not really worth living? Eking out a few extra seconds. Wondering... why they even bother.”

The doctor strained against the rope around his throat, choking out. “I know why. Life is a precious thing.”

The orderly stared up at him, incredulous as he stepped back from him, mockingly holding his arms out to his sides to mimic Huesyth’s position. “The Chesapeake Ripper. I wonder what they're gonna call me. You know, the Iroquois used to eat their enemies to take their strength. Maybe your murders will become my murders. I'll be the Chesapeake Ripper now.”

“Only if you eat me,” Huesyth’s eyes fluttered, looking past the laughing orderly to see a familiar figuring approaching through the steam, gun drawn.

The orderly turned back calmly as Jack raised his gun to him. “Put your hands where I can see them!”   
“He's got a gun, Jack!” Huesyth shouted.

Face dropping at Huesyth’s shouts, a bullet crashed into the man’s shoulder, sending him spinning to the floor as he coughed up his own blood. With his last bit of strength, however, he kicked his leg out and knocked the bucket out from underneath Huesyth’s feet. It seemed like an eternity that Huesyth struggled at the end of the rope, kicking as his throat was crushed under his own weight. His vision dimmed, the world fading from his view.

“Hold on, doctor!” Jack scrambled up the steps to him to grab him around the thighs and lifting him up to create slack in the rope. “Hold on, hold on.”

Unobstructed breath rushed back into Huesyth’s lungs as he bled against Jack’s front and the older agent looked to whoever was standing in the doorway, following after him. “Get an ambulance!”

 

The sink in his cell had been steadily dripping for hours. Bec watched it, listened to the steady repetitive sound of the water hitting the basin. There was nothing more he could do now. The pieces will fall where they may with or without his direct involvement.

Suddenly, the water stopped, leaving the cell in complete silence. Curiously, he peered up at it. To his horror, pure red bubbled up over the top of the sink before overflowing to pool on the floor of his cell.

He blinked again and it all disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	6. “Futamono”

Slow and somber, Jack approached from the stairs with a security guard shadowing him not far behind, Bec rising to his feet to meet him. The way the older man moved reminded the empath of an animal stalking around his camp. One predator scanning the other to see if the fight would be worth it.

The empath cocked his head to the side as he observed the older agent. “You're moving smoothly and slowly, Jack. Carrying your concentration like a brimming cup.”

“Huesyth Cavalli was almost murdered…” Jack carefully disclosed. “By an employee of this hospital. An attendant who we believe is the same person that... killed the bailiff and the judge at your murder trial.”

The older agent was studying Bec’s reactions but the empath offered nothing. It was getting easier to feel nothing at all. “He killed the bailiff but not the judge. That was the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“You know this?” Jack questioned.

Bec slowly nodded before averting his eyes. “He told me.”

Jack cut in. “Then you told him to kill Huesyth.”

“Nothing I said made that happen, Jack. It just happened.”

“It... just happened,” Jack repeated with a bitter bite. “You don't seem to be too broken up about it.”

He gave a soft sigh through his nose. “There's a common emotion we all recognize and have not yet named. The happy anticipation of being able to feel contempt.”

“You feel contempt for Huesyth,” Jack stated, calmly circling the cage.

Bec shrugged. “Well, I have contempt for the Ripper and for what he does.”

“And what does he do?”

“What does he do?” Bec shot back. “What is the first and principal thing he does? What  _ need  _ does he serve by killing?”

The empath waited impatiently for an answer he knew would be wrong. “He harvests organs.”

“No, that's only the  _ action _ of what he does,” Bec corrected. “Why does he need to do it? The Ripper kills in sounders of three or four in quick order. Do you know why? I know why.”

Jack came to a standstill in front of the cage, facing his former agent and narrowing his eyes. “Then tell me.”

“Because if he waits too long, then the meat spoils.”

Slowly then all at once, that sentence seemed to settle in his mind and he took a half step back. “He's eating them? Huesyth is like Garret Jacob Hobbs? A cannibal?”

Bec quickly shook his head. “No, not like Garret Jacob Hobbs. Hobbs ate his victims to honor every part of them. The Ripper eats his victims because they're no better to him than pigs.”

“With the exception of Beverly Katz,” Jack added. “There is no connection between Huesyth and any Ripper victims.”

“No  _ immediate  _ connection,” Bec sneered.

The older agent furrowed his brow at the empath, beginning his slow pace around the cage again as he processed the information. “Huesyth Cavalli is  _ not _ the Chesapeake Ripper.”

He knew there was no way that Jack would believe him right off the back but he had to try. The older agent needed to make his own connections just as Beverly did, Bec just hoped he would get help before trying to confirm them.

“If the Ripper's killing, you better believe that Huesyth Cavalli's planning a dinner party. You and I probably sipped wine while swallowing the people to whom we were trying to give justice, Jack.” A beat of silence passed between them. “Who does he have to kill before you open your eyes?”

 

“A remarkably lean organ, the heart,” The knife slipped through the tender meat of the heart, cutting the muscles into pieces as Alana watched him intently. “Yet such a potent symbol of life... and the things that make us human. Good and bad, love and ache.”

Alana took a slice of the heart meat from the marinade and skewered it with pieces of vegetables between each morsel. “All of them skewered.”

“It's a thematic dish,” Huesyth explained with a small smile. “My heart certainly feels skewered.”

He could feel the woman’s eyes drift down to the sewn up gashes in his forearms. She must have cringed slightly at the pain she imagined he felt. “You have the scars to prove it.”

The skin around his neck still held traces of rope burn. The tender flesh around the cuts stung a bit when he moved his arms the wrong way, a constant burning reminder of Bec’s untethered rage. Even from within the walls of the hospital, he still managed to pose some form of a threat. “It feels as if that noose is still around my neck. Strange having nightmares. I never used to.”

“Don't make the same mistake I've made,” Alana stressed and Huesyth gave her a look for her to continue. “Being your own psychiatrist. I'm always assessing my feelings instead of acting on them.”

Huesyth shrugged one of his shoulders slightly. “It's the safest course.”

“You have to find a way to deal with what happened to you.”

Huesyth looked back down at the heart he was cutting. “I'm metabolizing the experience by composing a new piece of music.”

“Harpsichord or theremin?” Alana asked with a smile.

“Harpsichord,” Huesyth named with a small smile. “Stravinsky said, ‘a true composer thinks about his unfinished work the whole time; he's not always conscious of this, but he's aware of it when he suddenly knows what to do’.”

“And do you know what to do?”

Without looking up from the heart that he was dicing to pieces, Huesyth expressed. “I need to get my appetite back.”

 

The fire in front of them cast a warm glow over them in the dark of the office, the crystal of their glasses catching the low light.

“There is a pattern taking shape,” Jack expressed grimly, staring into the flames dancing ahead of him. “I just have to convince my eyes to see it.”

“I've convinced myself of something I had refused to see for a long time.”

“And it only took Bec Reyes trying to kill you to see it?”

“Yes,” Huesyth answered simply. “I can't help Bec. I can't trust him. He's in a dark place where the shadows move and it's not safe to stand with him anymore.”

“I feel the same way,” Jack agreed before clearing his throat. “We, um... Found another ripper victim…”

“I'm sorry, Jack,” Huesyth cut off quickly, shaking his head. “I can't. Not only do I have to let Bec go. I have to let this all go. I nearly died. I would have if it weren't for you. I'm sorry, but I can't dwell on death anymore.”

A pause of silence before Jack muttered. “I don't blame you.”

“We both have to transform our misfortunes into life-enhancing events.”

Jack downed a heavy gulp from his drink to chase the pain. “Well, when you figure out how to do that, do let me know.”

“I'm going to start by hosting a dinner party,” Huesyth explained, turning to the older agent. “And please tell me you'll come.”

Jack gave an easy smile. “I wouldn't miss it.”

They clinked their glasses together gently and Jack took another swig.

 

He hurled into the toilet bowl, choking and coughing up bile as the waves of morning sickness wracked his body. Since he barely ate anymore, it was all stomach acid and it burned his nose, throat, mouth. Through his own heavy breathing and gagging, a calm voice came through the wall of his cell.

“Can’t say I ever threw up after my first kill but it’ll get easier, sport.”

Bec cringed at the familiar voice, spitting out the foul taste in his mouth before pulling himself back onto his feet despite his knees protesting. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jumpsuit sleeve as he hissed back. “You should've let him die.”

The empath flopped onto his bed, his back against the wall that he knew Gideon was leaning against as well in the adjacent cell.

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda,” Gideon rhymed back at him, annoyingly calm and proud of himself.

“He's gonna kill you, you know,” Bec reminded harshly.

“Can't get me in here.”

“No, here is  _ exactly _ where he'll get you, Abel. The moment I convinced the chief of staff to put you in a cell next to me, you were stamped with an expiration date. Anyone who gets too close gets got. He's the devil, remember? Smoke,” The empath looked up at the ceiling of his cell, knowing that someone was listening. “I'd be very nervous if I was Dr. Chilton. He's getting close too. The only way you and Frederick are gonna get out of this alive is if the Chesapeake Ripper is stopped.”

Bec let his eyes slip closed, imagining the worry on Chilton’s face but something didn’t sit right with him. He felt like he was given skin grafts on burns and the skin was withering away and dying. It was someone else's skin, not his. It was a foreign invader and his immune system seemed like it was trying to kill it before it did any more damage.

But another darker voice, the same monster that always acted vindicated by Huesyth’s presence but was now scorned by the thought of him, spoke vengeful whispers in his ear. It clawed that infesting skin off piece by piece and let it hang in bloody tears from its jaws because it wouldn’t be slowed or stopped.

His eyes opened again with a sudden thought. “Huesyth Cavalli deserves to die.”

“You didn't bring me here to help you kill Huesyth Cavalli,” Gideon chided through the concrete barrier between them.

“No, I didn't,” Bec snapped back. “I brought you here to bear witness.”

“To tell Jack Crawford that I sat in Huesyth Cavalli's cobalt blue dining room? An ostentatious herb garden with Leda and the Swan over the fireplace and you having a fit in the corner. That's where I asked him if he was the Chesapeake Ripper, and he avoided the question and suggested I kill Alana Bloom.”

The empath looked back over his shoulder at the wall as if he could stare through it at the other doctor. He was glad that the other man couldn’t see the prevalent confusion on his face. “Yes. Tell Jack that.”

“I'll tell Jack Crawford everything if you tell me why Huesyth did it.”

Bec paused, thinking back on his profile of the Ripper, of Huesyth himself, and even then it still felt so heart wrenching to admit. “Because he wanted to see what would happen.”

_ Curiosity _ . It was all for curiosity.

 

The sun filtered through the gaps in some of the slightly bent blinds, shining across the expanses of revealed skin tangled in the mess of sheets on Delmar’s bed. Amaund was plastered against the side of the smaller man, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and steady beat of his heart against the blonde’s ear. He had his long legs strewn over the top of Delmar’s, effectively pinning him down to the bed but it seemed like the weight was more comforting to the shorter man than unbearable.

He kept coming back, not for more information to help his brother but because he found himself actually excited when Delmar texted him wanting to meet up. A flutter in his chest like he was an elementary student getting a note back from his crush. He was letting it go too far, had the itch to cut out the feelings between them before he became too attached. Being naked against someone that he should’ve considered an enemy came with that nagging vulnerability to the cold shame creeping up his spine. It left him thinking that he should separate from the warm little cocoon he’d found himself in.

But soon Amaund felt the other man shift underneath him, a hand lifting up to rub the sleep out of his eyes as Delmar exhaled a deep breath. Partially healed bruises still colored Delmar’s face from their last sparring match, the stubbled skin of his jaw and cheeks taking on shades of purple and blue.

“How long you been awake?” Delmar mumbled, his accent seemed thicker when he was half asleep. Amaund thought it was cute.

“Not too long,” Amaund answered as he threw an arm over the shorter man’s chest, burying his face in his neck.

Delmar sighed happily, about to settle back in and probably go back to sleep when he ran a warm hand up Amaund’s back, regretfully saying. “Gotta get up, honey.”

As Delmar pulled himself up into a sitting position, Amaund let his arm fall away so the shorter man could swing his legs over the side of the bed and stretch. It gave the taller man a view of the scratch marks that Amaund had dug into him during their night of passion, overlaying the thick scar tissue crisscrossing over his back. It looked old, edges bleeding back into the smooth skin but the inner marks were still deep. Cracks wrongfully cut into perfect marble. Amaund could feel the pain they must’ve caused, unconsciously reaching out a hand to brush the back of his fingers over a larger mark.

Delmar couldn’t suppress the jerky flinch at the sudden touch but Amaund sat up as well. Shushing him softly as he pressed his chest against Delmar’s back, wrapping a firm forearm around his waist to run his fingers down Delmar’s abs. The shorter man relaxed against him when Amaund pressed his lips gently against his neck, soft kisses over the harsh bite mark laid against the man’s shoulder.

“You tryin’ to get me back in bed?” Delmar asked as Amaund worked his kisses up to his jaw. “‘Cause it really is working.”

Amaund chuckled softly, a warm breath moving against Delmar’s skin. “Do you have to get up for a reason?”

“My brother is having a dinner party and I promised I’d go. Still gotta find something decent to wear,” Delmar explained, looking over his shoulder at the taller man pressing kisses over his skin. “You can come to if you’d like. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me bringing a plus one, especially one as gorgeous as you.”

Amaund smiled, eye flicking down to the shorter man’s lips. “Don’t wanna make anyone else jealous.”

Delmar breathed a laugh as Amaund pressed their lips together. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around the shorter man’s waist slowly dragged up his back, over the thick ridges of scars, to curl his fingers into Delmar’s short hair. A shiver ran through the shorter man and Amaund chuckled against his lips.

“How does someone with a face this pretty have scars like this?” Amaund asked, not meaning anything malicious but Delmar’s face immediately dropped.

He stood up from the bed, untangling himself from the sheets so he could pull on the underwear and jeans he had on the night before. The behavior was so off that Amaund was actually taken aback by it.

“I-I didn’t mean to offend or anything. You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s fine, Amaund,” Delmar cut off as he moved to his dresser, his reflection in the mirror above it showing Amaund that he didn’t seem fine. “My, uh… my father wasn’t the nicest guy in the world.”

It hit Amaund like a ton of bricks, his eyebrows hitting his forehead in surprise. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, bunching the sheets up around his crotch. “God, Delmar, I’m so sorry.”

In the mirror, Amaund saw Delmar give a little, sad smile. “Seems like all we’ve done is apologize to each other for something or another. It really is fine, though. My father’s been dead for years now.”

He quirked an eyebrow at the back of Delmar’s, the shorter man not even turning to face him as he dug through the dresser for a t-shirt. “If… If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly happened to him?”

Delmar’s movements hesitated before stopping altogether. His face seemed conflicted and his shoulders were tense, sighing softly to himself and muttering quietly. “I killed him. He- He beat me…  _ Us. _ My brother and my mom. Drove my mom to kill herself so he took it all out on the two of us. I-”

His jaw tightened in an effort to not get more emotional and suddenly, Amaund pushed off the sheets to cross the room. He pressed himself against Delmar’s back again, gently gathering the man in his hands so Amaund could lay his cheek against Delmar’s head. Instead of having the underlining heat of expectant sex, it was more of solemn comfort.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Amaund offered.

A wave of relief seemed to hit Delmar all at once and he nearly deflated in the taller man’s embrace. He took a deep breath before straightening up again, turning in Amaund’s grasp to lay his hands on the taller man’s hips.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m okay,” The reassurances sounded like they were more directed at himself then anyone else but Amaund nodded.

“I know you are,” Amaund said, gently brushing their noses together.

“It’s funny really,” Delmar expressed without a hint of actual joy. “My brother is a damn therapist and I still haven’t gotten the nerve to talk to him about anything that happened to us.”

The taller man lowered his eyes. “That can’t make it easier.”

“Oh, hell no. He… He’s so damn clinical about everything. Everything’s a patient to diagnose with him and it gets so difficult to talk to him,” Delmar paused, looking up at the taller man standing naked in front him and gave a small laugh, rubbing his thumbs against Amaund’s hips. “I’m sharing way too much. This isn’t exactly something I should be talking about when you’re standing in front me looking like this. I’m being a real turn off, huh?”

“You gotta let it out at some point, right?” Amaund questioned, his hands running up Delmar’s chest to cup his face. “You  _ can  _ talk to me, Del.”

Something softened in the shorter man’s face, a red flush rose on his cheeks. It was hilarious that Amaund could ask the man to bend him over his desk and fuck him until he couldn’t walk and Delmar wouldn’t blink an eye but as soon as he starts expressing real feelings, the shorter man got blushy. His eyes left Amaund’s nervously as he searched around for an answer like it was something physical.

“I-I… Wow, it’s been so long since I had a decent conversation with another adult. I don’t even know how to react.”

They chuckle with each other. An odd softness had formed between them over the days they’d been together even if most of their encounters had been particularly violent.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said you can come with me.”

Amaund snorted softly. “Dinner parties aren’t really my scene if you couldn’t tell.”

“Oh, come on,” Delmar smiled. “Do you think they’re mine? I’m just going for free food and moral support.”

The taller man nibbled a bit on his bottom lip. “Call me afterward. I’ll come over and you can tell me all about it.”

Mischievously, Amaund pulled himself out of Delmar’s hold, sauntering off to use the shorter man’s shower.

 

_ His eyes squeezed shut as his hands wrap around the bars of his cage. Fists tightening around the metal as a bramble of antlers began growing out of his back. The nubs of the antlers rose through the roof of the cage, growing like thorny vines between the wire mesh. Extending from the cage, sharp, deadly, and surreal. _

Releasing the breath he’d been holding, his grip loosened, finally relaxing enough to open his eyes again.

“Hello, Dr. Cavalli.”

Huesyth approached the cage, his overcoat folded over his arm, not looking up at the empath immediately. “I feel like I've been watching our friendship on a split screen. The friendship I perceived on one side and the truth on the other.”

Bec raised his brows at the doctor. “It's a terrible feeling, isn't it?”

“You've been lying to me, Bec.”

Huesyth seemed so offended by the prospect of being played. It was almost pathetic. “Well, I... I don't really have a gauge for reality that works well enough to know if I've been lying.”

“But you understand the reality of Beverly Katz death. You understand your role in that.”

Bec tipped his head back and tried his best not to sigh. “What was my role?”

“Beverly died at your behest,” Huesyth reminded him. “You are as angry with yourself as you are with whoever murdered her.”

“Actually…” Bec sneered. “I am _ singularly _ angry with whoever murdered her.”

Huesyth paused for a moment, scanning over the younger man like he could see something that no one else could. “You tried to kill me, Bec. It's hard not to take that personally. However, if I were Beverly's murderer... I'd applaud your effort.”

“Oh, I'm no more guilty of what you've accused me of than you are of what I've accused you of.”

The doctor couldn’t hide the slight smile that flickered across his lips before he approached the cage. Bec loathed that he wanted to take a step back when he did but he had nowhere else to go. “I don't expect you to feel self-loathing or regret or shame. You knew what you were doing, and you made your own decisions, decisions that were under your control.”

Bec raised a curious brow at the doctor. “Oh, you think I'm in control?”

“I think you are more in control now than you have _ ever  _ been,” Huesyth expressed and there was that pride again. “You found a way to hurt me. I wonder how many more people are going to get hurt by what you do.”

It was a veiled threat, and they both knew it. He stepped back from the cage, slipping out of Bec’s fingers again. “Goodbye, Bec.”

 

A party was in full swing with the well-heeled guests gossiping to one another as they moved throughout his large living room. They enjoyed the trays of hors-d'oeuvres either placed periodically on table tops or the ones that the hired waiters were carrying. The string quartet performing gentle music in one of the corners, Alana seemingly enjoying the performance as much as anyone else there.

Huesyth turned away from where he had been conversing with Alana and another guest to see a bright red figure move out of the corner of his eyes. His attention drawn to unruly brown curls and a wine red dress, glittering under the low lights. The figment’s left hand reached out to the passing waiter’s hors d’oeuvres plate to pick up a piece of the skewered heart that Huesyth prepared with Alana. The glint of a diamond embedded in a wedding band shined back into Huesyth’s face as red lips closed around the bite of heart.

His fingers tightened minutely around the stem of his champagne glass until a rough hand clapped him on the shoulder from behind. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Huesyth turned to raise an eyebrow at the shorter form of his brother, face bruised and noticeable hickies peeking over the collar of his dress shirt that had no tie and was partially unbuttoned at the top. He did tuck the tail of his shirt into his pants line and instead of wearing his dirty boots he always stomped around in, Delmar had on actual dress shoes.

“You look like you have connected with oncoming traffic,” Huseyth observed as he sipped from his champagne, staring back to where the familiar apparition was across the room to find it empty.

Delmar snorted at the comparison. “I box, Huey. It’s my job. Your job, however, is to get people to talk about their feelings for an hour and you ended up getting taped to a cross.”

Huesyth rolled his eyes but Alana turned back to him, smiling curiously over at the new face standing by taller man’s side.

“Ah, Alana. This is Delmar Cavalli. My older brother,” Huesyth turned to the shorter man eyeing the woman. “Delmar, this is my colleague and former student. Dr. Alana Bloom.”

Delmar nudged his brother out of the way so he could address Alana more clearly, offering a sweet smile to the woman.

“My, my, my. Buonasera, Dottore Bloom,” Delmar purred, gently pulling Alana’s hand up to press a quick greeting kiss to the top of her knuckles.

Alana beamed with an approving laugh at the display of affection as Delmar dropped her hand. “Good evening to you too. I hope you don’t mind skipping the formalities so I can call you Delmar.”

“Oh, not at all,” Delmar approved.

She looked him over, appraising his appearance and probably the bruises as well. “Really, I had no idea that Huesyth even had a brother.”

“Ah, he’s not a big talker about his personal life,” Delmar waved off. “Now tell me, how does such a fiercely beautiful woman like yourself end up with a chum like this for a teacher?”

He shot his thumb back at his brother and smiled when Alana laughed again. “Your brother is actually an extremely intelligent man. You should be very proud.”

“Oh, no. Please don’t continue boosting his inflated ego, Dr. Bloom. I think it’d be considered unhealthy how big his head has gotten over the years.”

Huesyth rolled his eyes as the two gossiped before his attention was drawn to an awkward Jack as he was spotted across the room, looking out of place among the others. Beaming, the doctor crossed the floor to shake the older agent’s hand.

“Jack, I'm so happy you're here.” Delmar slowly followed behind him, swiping a glass of champagne from a serving tray as it passed him. “After all, you are the guest of honor. You saved my life.”

Delmar raised an eyebrow at Huesyth and then looked to Jack. “You’re the one who saved Huesyth?”

“I… I guess I am,” Jack stuttered, looking between the two men.

Delmar stuck a hand out, introducing himself. “Delmar Cavalli. I’m this stick in the mud’s older brother,” Jack shook the offered hand, not really paying attention to the face of the other man. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for saving him.”

“Well, these last few months have been particularly hard and Huesyth has been a dear friend to me. I... I couldn’t  _ not _ help him,” Jack turned to the taller of the pair of brothers. “Unfortunately, my friend, I can't stay.” As a server passed by with a tray, Jack raised his eyebrows at the contents. “Um... ooh. I would love to take some food to go if that's all right.”

“Of course,” Huesyth agreed with a smile, motioning to the server. “I'll get one of the staff to get you something from the kitchen.”

“No, no. That's all right. Just, uh, bring me a container and I'll serve myself from here,” The older agent motioned to the plate of food. “Um, with your permission, of course, Dr. Cavalli.”

Huesyth could feel Delmar looking between him and Jack, raising a curious eyebrow as he sipped from his glass, wondering what Huesyth will do.

Before the doctor could answer, Alana cut in. “Hello, Jack.”

There was an underlying warning in her words but Jack barely looked up to address her. “Hello, Alana. I do have your permission, Dr. Cavalli?”

Jack turned his attention to the taller man, focusing solely on his reaction as he was given a small paper plate to carry the food. All eyes in the conversation had turned on him so he relented before the pause grew too long, too suspicious. “Help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, loading the small plate up with hors-d'oeuvres.

“Eat it soon or it'll spoil.”

Another server finally came, offering a tupperware container for the food Jack was collecting and closing the lid over it. Jack turned back to the three and nodded to them. “Good evening,” Before quickly looking to Delmar. “It was lovely meeting you.”

Delmar tipped his head to the agent as Huesyth said back. “Good evening.”

The older agent turned and left the way he had came, Delmar turning a quirked brow up to his brother. “You never let  _ me  _ take any food.”

Unimpressed, Huesyth narrowed his eyes at his brother and Delmar took that as his cue to leave the taller man to his own devices. “Dr. Bloom, I’m sure you have plenty of stories pertaining to my brother. Am I right?”

He offered his arm to the woman which she took despite casting a worried expression back over her shoulder at Huesyth. Across the room and through the crowd, Huesyth spotted Chilton standing still among the constantly moving party. As soon as they met eyes, Huesyth gave the shorter man a knowing wink. Chilton was noticeably shaken, eyes darting around the room to keep the image out of his head.

 

When the party began to wind down and guests cleared out of his home, the only few remaining being the staff helping tidy up, the weight on his shoulders seemed to be bearing down harder than ever. The brothers moved towards the entrance at a steady but slow pace, Delmar noticeably sluggish from all of the social interaction.

They made it to the mudroom before Delmar sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair to loosen the product he used to slick it back. “Why do your parties have to last so long, man? People have got to run out of things to talk about sometime.”

“You’d be surprised by how much the rich love to talk about being rich.”

Delmar snorted softly. “I’m not surprised. I’ve got you for that.”

Though Huesyth chuckled, he reminded. “You understand that you can ask me for anything you need, right? Even if it may be money for your gym.”

A loud humorous laugh left Delmar. “I’ve already got an I.O.U. list with your name on it that’s a mile long, Huey. I’d rather not add to it.”

“I have the resources and you are my brother. You shouldn’t think of it as an I.O.U. in the first place. I don’t expect you to...”

Huesyth trailed off and Delmar raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Pay you back? You think I’m not gonna at least try?”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m just saying that I don’t expect anything in return. I’m here to help you.”

“I’m pretty sure pride is a sin, Huesyth.”

“As is wrath,” The doctor snapped back. “Not everything is a fight, Delmar. You’re not backed into a corner with this.”

Defeatedly and hesitantly, Delmar nodded in understanding, a mental correction of his behavior.

Those kinds of outbursts had been growing more and more frequent, to the point where Huesyth suspected that Delmar was becoming tired of the running, of the fear of being found out. There were days that Huesyth felt guilty for all that he had done to his brother. Since leaving their family estate, all they had done was smile pretty and lie prettier and hide the ugly blood stains on their hands. The bodies in their closets were beginning to pile up and Huesyth knew that Delmar was different from him. That the older man craved to settle down somewhere warm and happy with someone he loved and waste life away not worrying about those bodies breaking out to strangle him.

The blood bothered him, the bodies bothered him, the fake picturesque life they found themselves in since Huesyth graduated medical school bothered him because it all felt like a lie. A fairy tale or a ruse. But he would’ve done anything for Huesyth, the doctor knew this. His loyalty was the most commendable thing about his character. Being the kind of person Huesyth was, true loyalty was hard to come by so having Delmar standing by his side behind his veil of humanity always seemed to help him.

Another thing commendable about his personality was how much he craved for people to like him. Delmar felt so deeply, so strongly, that people couldn’t help but be drawn to his magnetic energy. Huesyth was almost jealous of him some days.

Sighing heavily, Delmar ran a hand down his face. “That Jack guy seemed pretty sketchy about your food, Huey,” He looked up at the taller man, quirking an eyebrow and lowering his voice. “He gettin’ too close?”

For once, Huesyth had no idea. Not knowing the possible outcomes made his skin crawl and he had no idea what Bec was whispering into the FBI’s ear when he wasn’t looking. “Currently, Jack is the least of our concerns.”

“But he saved your life,” Delmar reasoned. “Would he really have bothered if he thought differently of you?”

The taller man sighed as well. “I really have no idea.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Delmar asked.

Huesyth couldn’t help but smile gratefully. “I appreciate the steadfast attitude but for now I have it all under control.”

But Delmar wasn’t smiling his usual smile, keeping his face deathly serious. “I really don’t think you understand how terrifying the things I’d do for you are. The shit you do, this cat and mouse game with the FBI, I’ll put up with all of it, Hue, but you need to learn when it’s time to cut your losses and move the hell on before  _ you  _ become the mouse,” Huesyth was about to retort but Delmar cut him off. “You’re getting sloppy. You’re getting greedy.”

“Are you losing faith in me?” Huesyth questioned, eyes narrowing.

“I’m saying you’re not acting like yourself. I have no idea what’s thrown you so far off your game but, Jesus Christ, it’s gonna get you killed.”

Offended, Huesyth snapped back. “I am perfectly capable of deciding that for myself.”

“Your emotions are beating out your critical thinking and that’s dangerous in the game you’re playing,” Delmar shot back, furrowing his brow slightly. “Remember that  _ you _ are the one that told me to bury my heart in Italy before it got the both of  _ us  _ buried.”

“I know what I said,” Huesyth hissed. “So listen to me now when I’m telling you that I have it all under control.”

Delmar stared, looking between each of Huesyth’s eyes before his puffed up chest deflated and he took a step back out of his brother’s space. The shorter man sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I… I’m sorry, Hue. I didn’t- I don’t know why I’m more stressed about it than usual.”

Huesyth scanned his brother’s stressed face. “You’re only ever like this when you’re with someone. The fear of getting caught amplified by the fact that you fear rejection.”

“Okay, stop with the psychoanalysis bull for like ten seconds.”

“Who are you seeing?” Huesyth asked, genuinely curious over the person who had his usually collected brother so frazzled.

A small but smitten smile pulled at Delmar’s lips. “A guy I met at the gym. Wanted me to teach him how to box and instead, he kicked my ass into next week.”

Huesyth raised a questioning eyebrow. “Sounds lovely. I’d like to meet him.”

Delmar scoffed softly. “You hate everyone I date. You turned one of ‘em into kalamata pork tenderloin with rosemary.”

The doctor remembered that one. Beautiful young woman with hair dyed pale blue, promising future but had little respect. Delmar’s violent reaction was primarily Huesyth’s fault as he neglected in telling his brother until after they had already finished eating. “She  _ was  _ rather rude.”

“Yeah but I almost broke your teeth down your throat so I’d rather not have a repeat of that,” Delmar deadpanned. “Until I know I’m not gonna scare this one off by talking way too damn much then you’re not gonna meet him.”

Pausing briefly, Huesyth said. “I need to run some errands later.”

“‘Errands’? Will these errands require an alibi?”

“Preferably.”

Delmar gave a defeated chuckle. “I had a date after this, man.”

“Reschedule it,” Huesyth stated simply. “I’m sure your nameless boyfriend will understand.”

“If I’m doin’ this then I’m gonna go raid your liquor cabinet,” Delmar quipped, moving past the taller man to go back into the house. “Open up some of the old stuff.”

 

After his sixth glass of whatever pretty bottle he had found in Huesyth’s cabinet, Delmar was tripping over himself up the stairs to get to the guest bedroom he was told he could pass out in. Alana had been a nice change in conversation, a bright woman with an optimistic attitude who seemed just as curious about Delmar as he was about her. Neither of them knew the other existed and found common ground in wanting to explore the other’s view of Huesyth. It was fun, even more fun when Huesyth would pass by them during his cleaning and they’d snicker softly to themselves like children with their secrets.

The alcohol did a great job in loosening his tongue on the phone, the call ringing twice before going through and the addictive voice of Amaund coming through the speaker.

“ _ So how was the party? _ ”

“Boring,” Delmar slurred. “Wish you were there with me. I-I think it woulda made all the fake smiling so much more bearable.”

“ _You sound drunk,_ ” Amaund commented and Delmar could just imagine the cheeky smile on the taller man’s face. “ _Do you want me to come to pick you up?_ ”

Delmar sighed. “Can’t leave. Promised my brother I’d stay the night,” Before he could discourage his boyfriend anymore, an idea popped into his alcohol addled brain. “You could come here though. Huey wouldn’t mind I’m sure. I can make it up to him.”

There was a pause on the other end and Amaund spoke up. “ _ You sure he wouldn’t mind? _ ”

“I’ll sneak you in through the garden. We just… We just gotta stay quiet.”

“ _ Text me the address, Del. _ ”

And Delmar did and he waited patiently despite how much the alcohol in his system wanted to pull him under. The house was quiet now that the hired staff had all left but he knew that his brother was still prowling around the halls and he was positive that Alana hadn’t left yet. Finally, his phone pinged and he all but hurtled over the guest bed to grab it. Reading the message that Amaund was waiting down at the back door Delmar had directed him to.

Giddy, Delmar snuck his way back downstairs, bumping repeatedly into walls as he stumbled. He caught sight of his brother’s back as Huesyth returned into the living room but didn’t bother trying to talk to him. The back door slid open and from the dark of outside emerged Amaund with a dorky smile on his face. Delmar purred happily as he pulled Amaund closer, yanking him down to press their lips together. His lips parted and Amaund’s tongue slipped into his mouth to taste the expensive wine Delmar had chugged.

Amaund pulled back as they breathed into each other's mouths. “You taste great.”

They chuckled softly to each other before Delmar tugged Amaund along so that they could escape back upstairs before anyone could see them.

The dark room was illuminated only by the low light of the lamps on the side tables. Delmar ran his hands up Amaund’s chest as he pulled off the sweatshirt he was wearing to abandon it on the floor. The taller man fell back onto the bed, Delmar straddling his hips. He had one hand splayed across Amaund’s chest and the other cupping his cheek. Kissing lazily, exploring each other’s mouths while their tongues fought, small breaths escaping the man below him every so often as they shifted against each other.

Amaund’s hands moved from Delmar’s hips to the buttons of his shirt, yanking them open one by one but managing to not pop any of them off. The fabric slid from his shoulders and he flung it onto the floor as Amaund’s hands slid down his torso to his hips again, pressing them down against his crotch. Delmar moaned quietly against the taller man’s lips, arching beautifully into his touch. His hand moved from Amaund’s cheek to his slightly disheveled hair, tugging on the blonde strands as the kisses grew more desperate and messy.

A sound bubbled up from the back of Amaund’s throat, low and guttural, as Delmar tried to pull away to take a breath. But Amaund snagged his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down. Not hard enough to break the skin and draw blood, but enough that Delmar groaned and shuddered. Delmar’s hips jerked of their own accord as Amaund released him, licking his own lips as he stared up at the other man. His pupils were blown, leaving only slivers of the stormy blue remaining, hair a mess around his head. Scanning over Delmar’s face to take in the healing bruises, flushed cheeks, and spit-slick lips.

Delmar’s fangs flashed as he smiled down at the other man, releasing a breathy laugh. He felt exposed under the gaze but for once, the extra attention didn’t make him uncomfortable.

A hand tangled in his hair, tightening almost too much before Amaund pulled them to the right, rolling them over so that Amaund was on top. The taller man sat up, hand going to his waistline to tug at his pants before his belt came loose and he pushed them down to the floor. He turned his attention to Delmar next and he kissed his way down the shorter man’s torso until he got to his pants.

“Fuck, Amaund,” Delmar breathed as the taller man’s hand slipped under the waistline to wrap loosely around Delmar’s hardening cock, pumping him slowly. Involuntarily, his hips thrusted up into Amaund’s hand and he could see a smirk crossing Amaund’s lips.

His pants were tugged off his hips, Amaund kissing back up his torso until Delmar could wrap his arms around his lower back and pull him in so that their lips could connect again.

Delmar peppered kisses over the taller man’s jaw. “Gonna make you feel so good, Amaund.”

Slowly, the taller man sat up, Delmar following after him to lower them back onto the dark comforter.

“ _ Dammit _ ,” Delmar hissed against Amaund’s lips. “I don’t think I have lube.”

Amaund raised an eyebrow at him before chuckling softly. “Check my hoodie pocket.”

Sadly, the shorter man separated himself from Amaund, leaving behind a scattered mess of kisses before reaching over the side of the bed to dig through the pocket in the front of Amaund’s discarded sweatshirt. He pulled out the small bottle, sitting back up only to just about swallow his own tongue at the sight.

Amaund leaned back on the bed, hand slowly pumping his thick cock, smearing pre-cum down the length. He was watching Delmar intently, hips rolling into his hand when Delmar turned his attention back to him.

The lube nearly fell out of Delmar’s grip as his own dick twitched. He licked his lips again, fighting off the urge to crawl his way up the bed and take Amaund’s cock into his mouth until he came down Delmar’s throat. Without shame, his mouth watered at the thought but he filed it away for another time.

“Christ, how can you be so gorgeous?” Delmar muttered, tossing the lube by their sides on the bed to kneel between Amaund’s long legs.

He slid his hand under Amaund’s calf and hooked it over his shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to the taller man’s leg. He replaced Amaund’s hand with his own for a brief moment, just so that he could pull a stuttered moan from the taller man’s lips before he swiped up the bottle of lube. Smearing it between his fingers and warming it slightly, Delmar watched Amaund’s hand fist into the sheets as he expectantly waited until one of Delmar’s calloused fingers circled his entrance.

Delmar pushed a finger in, watching Amaund’s face with intrigue as the taller man let out a sharp gasp, back arching slightly off the bed as Delmar pumped inside him. Mouth going dry at the sight, Delmar slipped in another finger after a minute, working them in at an even pace while Amaund twitched and his cheeks grew darker. His fingers curled, grazing against Amaund’s prostate and drawing a loud, shaky moan from his lips. The taller man’s hand shot up to cover his own mouth, stifling the mess of noises threatening to escape and alert the last few people in the house of their presence.

“You sound so pretty. God, I wanna listen to you so bad,” Delmar mumbled.

Shakily, Amaund’s hands moved away from his face. “...Don’t want anyone to hear us.”

“I know. I know,” Delmar slid another finger in beside the two, feeling Amaund bear down against them desperately before the shorter man finally pulled back.

Quickly, Delmar slicked his cock up with lube and lined up with the taller man’s entrance. Pushing in slowly, a low groan escaped him at the hot, tight feeling around him. Surprisingly, Amaund managed to flush even deeper, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of Delmar starting a steady rhythm.

And Amaund just fell to pieces beneath him. Entire body shuddering as he tried desperately to take the shorter man deeper, his dick leaking against his stomach. A sharp moan was pulled from his lips when Delmar’s cock brushed against his prostate. “ _ Ah _ , fuck…”

Spurred on by the sound, Delmar fucked him harder, aiming for that spot again and again on each thrust. Sweat beaded on his forehead and Delmar found himself in awe every time he managed to take apart such a carefully composed man such as this one. Amaund reached up blindly, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as he patted at Delmar’s chest. The shorter man relented and leaned down so he was face to face with his boyfriend, the new position allowing Delmar to fuck him even deeper. Amaund whimpered at the change.

Only when Delmar decided to press his mouth against the taller man’s parted lips did Amaund open his eyes. Staring up at the shorter man with blown pupils, the hand on Delmar’s chest snuck up to trace over his boyfriend’s neck, thumping at his pulse point.

A devious grin made its way onto Amaund’s face and Delmar only had half a second to brace himself before the taller man was flipping them over again. He was pinned down to the mattress in a second and though his cock slipped out in the process, Amaund angled himself and seated himself back onto Delmar’s dick in a quick motion. His fingers splayed across Delmar’s chest and a shudder wracked his body while he sighed softly. He started his own hard rhythm, Delmar thrusting up into him as Amaund moved down.

The shorter man could tell that Amaund was trying with all of his few remaining brain cells to stay as quiet as possible but punched out, breathy sounds still managed to escape when he felt the bite of Delmar’s nails digging into his hips. He leaned down, their lips coming together in hot, opened mouth kisses and his pace didn’t stutter as he fucked himself on Delmar’s cock. A hand slid up his chest to grasp his throat and Delmar’s eyes shot open to stare up at the other man, the squeeze hard enough to cut off his air supply.

He choked on his own breath as Amaund clenched around him and he was so close, so close and Amaund growled into his hard. “Cum for me, Del.”

Delmar came hard, spilling into Amaund with a choked off groan with the taller man riding him through it. He didn’t even register that Amaund had come across his stomach and chest until oxygen flooded back into his lungs. His body tingled as he stared up at Amaund, still seated on top of him and breathing heavily. The taller man ran a hand through his sweaty blonde hair, tongue poking out to run across his bright red lips again.

“You’re incredible,” Delmar whispered before he could stop himself but a warm smile crossed Amaund’s lips. The taller man leaned down and pressed another more gentle kiss to Delmar’s mouth.

 

After the living room was finished being cleaned, Huesyth returned with an expensive bottle of white wine. He knew Alana wasn’t much of a wine person but it slipped his mind as he returned the room to hear a slow, dreamy song floating from his harpsichord.

Alana sat at the instrument, facing away from him as she played to heart’s desire. He approached the couch, pouring them two glasses of the wine and moving to stand by her side.

“Well, the ending to my composition has been eluding me, but you may just have solved that problem with ‘chopsticks’.”

Alana smiled up at him as he handed her the wine, her eyes drawn back to the harpsichord. “If only every problem could be solved with a simple waltz. Jack's treating you like a suspect. Pointing fingers in the dark.”

Huesyth watched her fingers move over the keys. “I've walked away from Bec, but I'm still trailing his accusations.”

“I've walked away too,” Alana explained, hands pausing their movements. “I can't forgive Bec for what he did to you. I just want to walk away from all of it.”

“What does walking away leave us?” Huesyth asked.

Alana looked back up at the doctor. “Each other.”

They smiled at one another and soon they moved their talk to the couch so they could enjoy their wine more comfortably. With an impaired chuckle, Alana leaned back against the couch, her heels long since been kicked off onto the floor by the couch as she sipped at her fourth glass of wine. The bottle was nearly empty but Huesyth poured himself another, settling back into his side of the sofa.

“I can’t believe I never knew you had a brother,” Alana commented. “You knew about mine.”

“As Delmar said, I don’t often speak of my personal life. It isn’t that interesting anyway.”

“Oh, please, Delmar seems lovely.”

Huesyth gave a soft scoffed. “He’s often considered the favorite between us. Far more of a people pleaser than I am.”

“I didn’t say I like him  _ more _ ,” Alana countered, her voice beginning to sound more and more slurred. “I barely know him.”

“I think if you spend enough time with us, you will find yourself enjoying him more.”

Alana stared at him, eye half-lidded with the willpower of trying to keep them open. “I still prefer you, Huesyth.”

It hit him deeper than he would’ve thought but he didn’t let it sink in much more when he looked over to see Alana’s eyes had slid shut, her body slumping against the back of the couch. He waited, staring at her as she sunk deeper into unconsciousness before he reached over and snapped his fingers close to her ear, she doesn’t stir. Standing cautiously from the couch, he used a cloth to wipe off the rim of her last wine glass.

Before leaving, he pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and laid it over her gently.

 

The hospital curtains moved slightly from him passing by, the shuffle of his feet against the floor to signal his arrival. The curtains are drawn back and a tall figure dressed in surgical scrubs, gloves, and a mask stood above the hospital bed where Gideon laid, staring in shock with his bruised face.

His hand reached up to pull down that mask and Huesyth gave the man a wolfish smile. “Hello, Dr. Gideon.”

A resigned expression pulled at the injured man’s face, accepting his fate as Huesyth approached and allowed the curtain to fall closed behind him.

 

The room was dark with the lights turned off, the air cool after the sweat had dried on their skin. Delmar was fast asleep by the time they had settled into the covers but Amaund wasn’t. He stayed awake, listening to Delmar’s steady breathing in the dark as he mentally scolded himself for falling into bed with this guy again. It all worked out though, he was in Huesyth’s house and barely thirty minutes earlier, he heard one of the doors downstairs open and close. Everyone must’ve been gone then.

He slipped out of the warmth of the sheets, quickly dressing from the pile of clothes on the floor before slowly exiting the guest bedroom. The whole house was quiet, eerily so, and darker than Amaund would’ve thought. The doorknob of the master bedroom clicked, sounding almost like a siren in the stillness but the door opened.

The room was washed with shades of blue and was about the size of three of Delmar’s apartment bedroom, big enough to have its own fireplace and bathroom. Moving quickly, Amaund used his phone flashlight to dig through some of the stuff. Everything was organized, almost obsessively, from suits to ties to socks and cufflinks. He pulled out one of the dresser drawers to find something peculiar, a worn brown leather belt that seemed out of place. It didn’t seem like his kind of thing especially considering the material looked pretty cheap like something Amaund had seen on Bec-

He dropped the belt back into the drawer out of disgust, cringing at the thought of why Huesyth would have Bec’s belt of all things tucked away in a drawer in his bedroom.

The one thing in the room that was noticeably off was the clothes laid out in one of the armchairs, out of place unlike the rest of the room. Huesyth had seemingly come back to his room and changed clothes but didn’t put them away again. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would forget his manners and leave clothes out like that unless he was planning to do something with them later. He snapped photos of the room, of the clothes in the corner before deciding to leave. The upstairs gave nothing so he slowly made his way down, cautiously checking around corners in case he was wrong and Huesyth was still there.

The kitchen was pristine, you wouldn’t even know that there was such a big party that happened there less than a few hours previous. The stainless steel countertops gave a dull shine like morgue tables. Amaund thought it was only natural for a man like Huesyth.

The whole place made Amaund shutter with unease, all the weeks of work leading him directly into the monster’s home. He should’ve been happy for the big break but all he felt was consuming dread that if he was wrong and Huesyth was still in the house, he may never see the light of day again.

With an edge of caution, Amaund pulled on a pair of rubber gloves before pulling open the freezer. The artificial light was blinding in the dark of the house but inside he found only a few remaining plastic-wrapped pieces of raw meat. A nauseous feeling rose in Amaund’s throat but he took pictures of the bags anyway and quickly closed the freezer door. Moving on from the kitchen with a sigh, he wandered into the living room only to see the top of someone’s head over the back of the couch.

Amaund had to fight back the urge to flinch backward until he realized that the head of dark hair couldn’t have been Huesyth. Slowly, he approached the couch from behind until he circled to find a woman laying back on it, unconscious with a blanket laid carefully over her. She seemed to have fallen asleep mid conversation as she was still propped up as if talking to the empty space on the couch next to her. He reached forward, gently touching her neck to check for a pulse and finding a calm one, the steady rise and fall of her chest signaling that she was still alive.

There were empty glasses on the coffee table in front of her along with a purse. Despite his manners telling him not to, he began digging through the contents of the purse to find her wallet, opening it up to read her ID, Alana Bloom.

He remembered Sofia ranting to him for hours when he got into town about the people who she knew led Bec to the chopping block. Though Dr. Bloom was lower on the list of people Sofia wanted to strangle, she was still a prominently mentioned figure. Amaund peered up at her unconscious form and then back to the collection of glasses. It seemed to be far too many to just be from her, some having smears of lipstick around the rim and others not. She must’ve been having drinks with Huesyth after the party.

Something didn’t feel right, though, a suspicious feeling creeping up his spine as leaned up to her again.

“Dr. Bloom?” Amaund asked softly, gaining no response. “ _ Dr. Bloom. _ ” He shook her gently but she barely moved, eyes still not opening.

Standing quickly, the unease in his heart was growing into paranoia and he decided it was time to cut his losses. As he headed for the door, however, something tugged on his heart, something trying to pull him back upstairs into the guest room bed where Delmar laid. The smell of clean sheets and the salt of sweat with the bite of the wine Delmar had drunk, an odd but comforting combination in the unfamiliarity of the dark house. 

With a soft scoff, he shook his head of the invading thoughts and pulled his hood back over his head before leaving the way he’d come in through the garden. He locked the door behind him, pulling his hood closer to fight off the cold air nipping at his face as he made his way down the street to where he’d parked his car. The rubber gloves were the first thing he had yanked off as he turned up the heater before he decided it was rude to leave in the middle of the night without warning. Pulling out his phone, Amaund sent a quick text to Delmar about how he got a call in the night and had to leave.

It was pathetic at best, a barely believable lie but it should serve its purpose.

 

Alana stirred first the next morning, a sharp inhale and exhale before her eyes fluttered open to see Huesyth slumped on the other side of the couch next to her, sleeping quietly in the clothes they’d worn the night before. The positions were uncomfortable and he heard her groan as she rubbed at the knot that no doubt formed in her neck last night.

His eyes slid open and he looked over at her as Alana folded her legs under the blanket she’d pulled into her lap. “You’re awake,” She commented.

“So are you,” Huesyth replied, rubbing at his eyes. He pulled himself up again, back popping at the movement as he collected the empty glasses and bottle. “I hope you’re still hungry after last night.”

“Starving,” Alana quipped. “Can I use your shower?”

“Of course. Upstairs. Third door on the right,” Huesyth explained, motioning up the stairs in the direction of the room as he moved into the kitchen.

Alana stood too, legs shaky as she made her way up the stairs and unconsciously counting the numbers of doors before coming to the one Huesyth had directed her to. As her hand reached for the knob the door swung open and a puff of hot steam emanated from within the small room as a figure stepped out and nearly ran into her.

“Oh, whoops,” Delmar blurted, his hand shooting out to steady her hip as they almost collided. “Morning, Dr. Bloom.”

Her eyes flicked down to his bare chest, littered with hickies and thin scratches, as his other hand gripped the towel around his waist.

“Oh, uh, good morning, Delmar,” Alana hesitated as she averted her eyes.

Delmar spun them so that they traded places, smiling cheekily at the woman as he returned to the guest room.

 

After all the time and preparation it took to put on a dinner party, Huesyth should have taken a long break from cooking afterward but no. The smell of cooked pork filled the house quickly, the crackle of the meat soon drawing another hungry guest in Delmar as he emerged into the kitchen. With the same low hung pants he was wearing at the party but with a towel wrapped around his shoulders to dry his wet hair.

“That smells  _ amazing _ ,” Delmar complimented, mouth probably watering at the prospect of more food. His hand reached out to one of the plates containing the finished cooked slices and Huesyth’s free hand shot out to slap him away.

His brother withdrawing at the attack, Huesyth deadpanned. “It’s not ready.”

“Listen not everything has to be a work of art, you prick,” Delmar chuckled, tricking Huesyth’s eye but letting him follow his other hand while Delmar’s right swiped one of the pieces from the plate before he could be smacked again.

The older man stepped away from his brother with another low laugh, facing away from Huesyth as he moved over to the coffee machine. The skin of Delmar’s back and chest were littered with marks including the long claw marks on his shoulder blades. Huesyth rolled his eyes, fighting back a cringe as he removed the last pieces from the pan before they burned.

“I didn’t know Dr. Bloom was still here,” Delmar added as he poured himself a mug of coffee. “Everything went quiet and I thought you had left.”

“After watching you stumble up the stairs, I assumed I needed a second pair of eyes just in case.”

Delmar turned to lean back against the counter, quirking an eyebrow at the taller man. “Well now, who’s losing faith in who?”

Huesyth was about to reply when the doorbell rang, drawing both of the brothers’ attention away from each other.

“You’re a popular guy,” Delmar commented, sipping from his coffee.

“I’ll see who it is.” The taller man turned off the stove, running a hand over his head as he exited. The bell rang a second time before Huesyth could get to it, opening it up to reveal Jack on the other side, looking less than pleased with his face drawn into a furrow.

“Jack,” Huesyth greeted.

“Huesyth,” The older agent replied, not waiting for an invitation before stepping inside.

“What can I do for you?”

“We need to talk,” Jack stated simply, moving into the living room while Huesyth shut the door, following after him. As Jack came to a standstill in the middle of the room, Delmar emerged from the doorway to the kitchen, resting against the doorframe to observe the agent.

“Mornin’, Agent Crawford,” Delmar welcomed, sipping from his mug.

Jack seemed taken aback by the other man but nodded politely. “Delmar,” He turned back to the doctor, beginning again. “Abel Gideon fell down a stairwell last night. He was hospitalized. The security guard standing watch has been killed in what appears to be  _ another _ Chesapeake Ripper murder. Gideon is nowhere to be found.”

“He escaped?” Huesyth questioned.

“We know he didn't leave the hospital on his own. His back was broken. He was taken by someone. Someone who knew him,” The older agent paused, looking the doctor up and down. “Where were you last night?”

Huesyth furrowed his brow, giving a confused expression back to his brother. “I was here.”

“All night?”

“Yes,” Huesyth stated.

Jack raised an eyebrow before looking at Delmar who nodded in confirmation, turning back to Huesyth. “Anyone other than yourself and your brother that can verify that?”

“I can,” A voice cut in.

The men in the room were drawn to the doorway Delmar was in to find Alana standing by the older man’s side, her dark hair wet as she was dressed in one of Huesyth’s dress shirts and a pair of his sleep pants. “I was with Huesyth all night, Jack,” Surprise flashed across the older agent’s face but he did his best to bury it quickly, looking between the two doctors. “What are you accusing him of?”

“I'm not accusing him of anything,” Jack defended. “Only asking his whereabouts.”

“That's not all you're asking,” Huesyth reminded.

Jack gave the three even looks, forced to rethink his accusations just as Bec did.

 

Approaching the table that night, Huesyth laid the tray of the clay roasted thigh out in front of his newest guest. “Rôti de cuisse. Clay-roasted thigh and canoe-cut marrow bone.”

Gideon stared as the doctor worked to crack open the clay shell with a metal mallet, conscious and alert but obviously unwell with a noticeable IV sticking out of him.

Pulling away the pieces of cracked clay, revealing the moist meat underneath, Huesyth commented. “I love cooking with clay. It creates a more succulent dish and adds a little theatricality to dinner. We come from clay, return to clay,” With his knives poised over the roast, he addressed his silent guest directly. “Shall I carve?”

Gideon’s eyes were finally drawn up to his host’s, raising an eyebrow. “I think you already have.”

The shorter man’s hand ran carefully over the edge of the freshly dressed stump that was formerly his left leg, now cut off at mid-thigh.

“Your legs are no good to you anymore,” Huesyth reminded as he cut into the meat, transferring it to Gideon’s waiting plate. “You've got a T4 fracture of the vertebra. This is a far more practical use for those limbs.”

“Hard to have anything, isn't it, Dr. Cavalli? Rare to get it, hard to keep it. A damn slippery life.”

The taller man laid some of the slices of the meat onto his own place, sighing as he sat at his own place setting. “You were determined to know the Chesapeake Ripper, Dr. Gideon. Now is your opportunity.”

“You intend me to be my own last supper?”

With a curt nod, Huesyth replied with a simple. “Yes.”

“How does one politely refuse a dish in circumstances such as these?”

“One doesn't,” Huesyth responded, cutting into the meat and putting a piece into his mouth, savoring the taste. Gideon looked down at the plate featuring his own meat. “The tragedy is not to die, Abel, but to be wasted.”

Hesitantly, Gideon took up his knife and fork, cutting a forkful of meat off and put it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

“My compliments to the chef.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	7. “Yakimono”

The morning sickness became worrying, morphing into him fainting in his cell and being found by a guard an unknown amount of time later. He was strapped down to a gurney and carted off to the medical ward where one of the nurses, one far more wary of the empath as she snapped on a pair of gloves.

For once, he wished for an incompetent medical examiner but she noticed something was off about him and not just the fact that he was supposedly a serial killer.

She looked him up and down, her pen pausing on the clipboard. “How far along are you?”

Bec furrowed his brows at her, playing dumb. “What are you t-” “I’ve had three kids, hon. I can tell the early signs. How far along are you?”

The empath nearly swallowed his own tongue at being found out so easily, weeks in hiding had made it seem like he could get away with it for the entire pregnancy if he wanted to, but he relented hesitantly. “Six weeks, I think. Maybe seven. I’m not positive.”

Her wary exterior seemed to drop momentarily but it rose again as she dropped her clipboard down on the side table with a clatter. “You’ve been hiding a pregnancy your entire time here? Do you understand the types of medications that Dr. Chilton has been prescribing you?”

“I decided that if I’m not alive then neither is my child,” Bec retorted. “Playing along seemed to be the safest route.”

The nurse sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before stepped away from him briefly. She returned, dragging along a wheeled cart with a tarp covering it. The tarp was whipped off along with a thin layer of dust to reveal an ultrasound machine beneath, flipping it on so it could warm up. He narrowed his eyes at the machine but the nurse didn’t bother with an explanation.

“I’m gonna need to move your jumpsuit out of the way, okay?” She explained, waiting for Bec to nod in agreement before cautiously beginning to tug the zipper of his jumpsuit down. Pushing up the cheap t-shirt before she retrieved a bottle of gel. She warmed it slightly in her gloved hand before rubbing it across the expanse of the slight bump of his stomach.

It was a weird feeling and an embarrassed blush tinged his cheeks as she removed the transducer probe from the holder, running it across his stomach to get a good idea of where the fetus was located. On the screen above her shoulder, through the blurry static image was something akin to a humanoid shape but nothing significant.

The nurse observed the screen quietly, Bec looking between her reaction and the screen as he tugged aimlessly on the straps around his wrists. He didn’t know why he was so jittery about what she had to say. It probably had something to with the fact that he was scared about being the reason that his child was eaten alive in the womb due to the drugs he let them pump into him. He had no idea if he could pregnant again after this one though. His fertile years were long behind him and he was sure that that could’ve been his last chance to have the family that he always wanted. With or without the father being present, Bec wanted to have the child.

“They look kinda small for how far along you said you are,” The nurse started, breaking Bec out of his thoughts. “Have you been eating?”

“Not… Not a lot,” Bec answered, truthful but idiotic.

The nurse raised an eyebrow at him. “I know the food here ain’t that good but you starving yourself isn’t helping anyone. Including these two.”

 _Two?_ He raised an eyebrow at her. “What?”

She looked back at him then back to the screen, pointing to the separate light circles that appeared through the static fuzz. “There’s two sacks which means you’re having twins. Their heartbeats are pretty strong despite everything they’ve been through.”

Looking back at him again, she saw his jaw basically hit the floor, his eyes wide with surprise. It all seemed to make sense then. The size of his bump definitely made more sense.

“Di-Did you not know?” She asked withdrawing the transducer probe.

Numbly, Bec shook his head, still staring at the screen even though it had gone dark. Sighing softly, the nurse flipped the machine off completely.

She retrieved her clipboard from the table she’d left it on. “I’m gonna request that you’re antipsychotics be lowered and be replaced with prenatal vitamins. In here you’ll need all the help you can get.”

“ _Wait,_ ” Bec croaked, stopping her movements before her pen hit the paper. “How… How long could we keep this off record?”

Confused, the nurse raised an eyebrow at him. “Mr. Reyes, I can’t legally-”

“I know. I know… But how long can you give me before you have to tell Chilton?”

Her expression melted, sympathetic of his horrified expression at the thought of Chilton finding out. She still seemed torn between professional duties and her own humanity but finally relented after a period of silence.

“One week,” She said. “If you don’t find your way out of here in a week then I have to report your pregnancy.”

Bec nodded quickly, relieved for the first time in weeks.

 

They sat across the small table from one another, the room slightly dark around them and casting intimidating energy on the room. He thought that’s what it was supposed to do being an interrogation room an all.

“They found a witness,” Alana began first. “A survivor. The only victim of the Chesapeake Ripper who lived to tell.”

Huesyth’s eyes shot over Alana’s shoulder briefly, into the two-way mirror he knew Jack had to be standing behind. “Is this witness watching me now?”

“Yes.”

He looked back at the woman. “It seems I am the usual suspect.”

“I keep having angry, imaginary conversations with Jack Crawford about that,” Alana expressed, hands clasped tightly on the table in front of her. “I wish I could tell you why this is happening.”

“His witness must not be able to identify the Ripper by sight,” Huesyth guessed as he stood from his chair, circling the table to approach the glass. “Jack wants them to hear my voice; otherwise, I'd be in here alone,” He looked over his shoulder back at Alana. “Right? Still... I appreciate your company.”

He turned back to the glass, focusing solely on the figures he could imagine moving on the other side. The young and bright Miriam Lass, the promising FBI trainee now left with haunted eyes and bones as hollow as a baby bird. But he could imagine her on the other side, brow furrowed in determination as she scanned the details of his face, clutching the stump of her left arm as she fought to remember. A reflection of red passed over the dark shapes in the mirror, Huesyth’s eyes moving up to follow it as the facade of Bec moved around to the side of the table he just abandoned.

A predatory smirk pulled at the corners of the imaginary vixen’s face. “ **_Thank you, Huesyth._ **”

 

At the buzz of the door alarm, Bec’s shoulders immediately became tighter but he still continued pulling on his heavy jacket. He gave a juvenile kick to the crumpled jumpsuit on the ground at his feet before Chilton limped into view on the other side of the bars to his cell.

“This is very sudden,” Bec commented.

“The federal prosecutor dropped all charges against you,” Chilton explained, resting his weight on his cane. “Since you were _not_ convicted of killing anyone, the basis for your sentencing to this institution is null and void. The Chesapeake Ripper has set you free. Mazel tov.”

Chilton looked down the cell block, nodding to the guards and the buzzer sounded. The sound of the lock mechanisms in his cell door unlocking gave Bec a spike of joy and he reached out and pushed the door open.

Chilton began again as Bec enjoyed his brief freedom. “I would love nothing more than to see you trade places with Dr. Cavalli. I have no intention of ending up on his menu.”

“Well, then confess, Frederick,” Bec said, not even paying attention to the doctor as he scanned around the cell block without the weight of his shackles. The empath began moving down the hall without waiting on Chilton to follow.  “Might be the only thing that saves your life.”

“Confess to what?” Chilton asked from behind him. He could hear the other man’s footsteps start after him.

“Confess to _bonding_ with Huesyth Cavalli over your shared practice of unorthodox therapies. Dr. Cavalli with me, you with Abel Gideon.”

“Gideon is playing his own game,” Chilton shock back in his defense. “He was wheeled out of that hospital by the Chesapeake Ripper. I’ll forever be curious what bargain _they_ struck up.”

They came to the end of the hall and Bec waited for the gate to be opened. “No, there's no bargaining with smoke. Gideon's dead or he’s about to be,” The empath shot back over his shoulder. “You're next.”

“Unless I unburden myself.”

“Confession is good for the soul,” Bec reminded as he finally turned back to face the doctor. “Shine a light on your relationship with Huesyth Cavalli. He works in the shadows so you’ll have to deny them to him. Tell Jack Crawford everything that’s happened.”

“Are you suggesting I kill my career before Huesyth can kill me?” Chilton repeated, amused by the very thought of it.

“I'm suggesting you convince Jack Crawford however you can,” Bec said with a shrug as he slipped his glasses back onto his face, a familiar weight. “What’s more important to you, your pride or your life?”

The gate finally buzzed, opening slowly and Bec stepped through but not before Chilton asked. “Why did Huesyth not just kill you?”

Bec barely hesitated in his step, looking back over his shoulder as the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. “Because he wants me.”

Chilton stared through the gate, confused by what the empath was implying but Bec turned away, walking up the stairs out of the lower cell block. Guards opened the gates for him as he made his way up and into the therapy hall containing the rows of cages that he spent so much time in. The sunlight coming through the high windows created shafts of light and shadow across the floor and drew his attention up to meet an awaiting Jack Crawford. He was stationed at the base of the stairs that Bec needed to climb in order to escape that place for good.

Bec stopped short at the sight of his former boss, step stuttering.

“You need a ride?” Jack asked simply. Every bad memory began bubbling up in Bec’s head, every minute where Jack looked at him like the broken teacup he was and saw nothing but a murderer that needed to be put away and forgotten. It left a sour taste.

“No,” Bec replied, hiding a sneer. “I’ll just call a cab.”

“We found Miriam Lass,” Jack revealed. Of course, he had to be there about work. He was there for the killers, not for Bec. “Alive.”

“You catch the Ripper?” The empath asked. Jack shook his head. “How is Miriam?”

“Traumatized,” Jack replied, pushing off from the stairs to pace towards the empath. “Miriam thanked me after we found her. Thanked me for not giving up on her. But I had. I had given up on her and I gave up on you too. I thought she was dead. I thought you were crazy and I gave up on trying to find the both of you.”

“You didn't have to find me, Jack,” Bec sighed as he stepped away from the older agent, knocking his fist lightly against one of the cages to create a resounding bang before he finally walked past him to the stairs. “You just had to listen to me.”

“I put Miriam in a room with Huesyth Cavalli,” Jack shouted over his shoulder to keep Bec from leaving. “She stated definitively he is _not_ the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“That definitive enough for you?” Bec questioned over his shoulder.

“ _No_. It wasn't.”

The empath considered the answer. He knew no one out there was as ready as he was to believe in his stories about Huesyth being The Ripper but Jack was toeing the line. He was ready to believe. “Where'd you find her, Jack?”

 

A full crime scene, FBI investigators swarming the snow-covered Virginia farmland and circling the barn. The sedan rolled to a stop in the center of the swarm, the two men swiftly exiting the vehicle so Bec could stare at the building as Jack circled the vehicle to stand by his side.

“The property was condemned years ago,” The older agent explained as they began approaching the barn. “Apparently the Ripper has been using it since that time.”

The empath followed by Jack’s side as they descended into the maw of the dark, ominous building, deeper still until they found the cistern room. As Bec observed the police presence taking photos of the dusty, rusted machinery, Jack called to him. “Bec, in here.”

He was led into a side room, filled with more tools of torture and surgical instruments. Stainless steel tables lit by work lights that cast an eerie light, highlighting the metal. Tucked into a corner was a large rack of glass slides that looked like the ones that encased Beverly. He averted his eyes quickly only to have them land on heavy jars filled with darkened blood.

“It's Beverly Katz's blood,” Jack explained. “He drained her before he froze her... before he cut into her.”

Bunches of dying flowers, vines and branches were left in a withering mass on the autopsy table. The older agent stepped forward to hand the younger man photos from an open file. A naked man with a tree growing through his body, organs replaced with bouquets of flourishing flowers of different colors. “The Chesapeake Ripper's latest victim. He was found in the other cistern. The water in his lungs is what led us here.”

Jack looked down into one of the cisterns, his flashlight shining down into the dark water at the bottom. “We found Miriam down there. She believed that the Ripper brought her here to kill her. He was saving her to be his last victim. He _knows_ we're close to catching him.”

Bec shrugged as he crouched, staring into the reflection of himself in the water below. “He's been caught before,” He slipped off his glasses. “Catch a fish once and it gets away... it's a lot harder to catch a second time.”

He stared and stared before his eyes slipped close, inhale then exhale and the world around him shifted until he was alone in the workshop. The pendulum in his head stopped. _The flowers and vines on the table rejuvenated, blooming anew._

_But he opened his eyes and the crime scene was completely gone. He found himself standing in the shadowy expanse of Huesyth’s office. The man in the tree was in full bloom in front of him, rooted into the floor of the office before the windows. Branches grew, reaching out of him and stretching to the ceiling._

_The killer took it all in as he slowly approached it to place the final piece into the formerly gutted chest cavity, a heart made of flowers._

“I sowed the seeds... and watched them grow. I cultivated... a long chain of events leading to this. _All_ of this... has been my design.”

_A dramatic pause and the killer found himself standing over the cistern in the barn, Miriam Lass cowering in the dark below._

“It's theater.”

_Unceremoniously, he slammed the cistern lid closed with a resounding clang that echoed through the hollow cylinder._

His eyes opened, Bec could feel Jack’s eyes on his back, waiting for the empath to turn back to him with blood rushing down his face. But instead, the empath raised an eyebrow at him over his shoulder when the older agent began speaking again.

“Every time the Ripper kills someone, it's a kind of theater.”

“The Ripper didn't bring Miriam here to kill her,” Bec denied, standing up straight only to feel a spike of pain shoot up his abdomen. It was just a cramp but it felt like a kick in the gut with a heeled boot. Unconsciously, his arm wrapped around his stomach protectively, flinching when he saw Jack move towards him out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you alright?” Jack asked, face concerned.

Quickly, Bec nodded, letting his arm fall away to hang by his side. “Had a disagreement with a guard’s nightstick. I should be fine,” He stepped away, moving passed the older agent. “He brought her here for you to find her. Find… all of this.”

Jack furrowed his brow at the younger man. “But the Ripper's not self-destructive. He doesn't want to get caught.”

“He wants you to catch _someone_ ,” Bec explained, pacing back towards Jack. “Like he wanted you to catch me. Somewhere, in all of this evidence, you will find something that will lead you _away_ from Huesyth Cavalli.”

“Miriam Lass has already done that.”

The empath looked back to the older agent, meeting eyes with him. “Two years is a long time to have Huesyth in your head. You can't trust her, Jack. You can't trust any of this to be what it seems.”

 

His house sat nestled amidst the bare trees and snow, cozy in the complete silence. Cars were already parked by the side of the house when Bec pulled up, recognizing them immediately. The snow crunched under his boots as he slowly approached the porch, it felt so weird then to be back.

A figure emerged from his front door and Sofia’s eyes flicking up to meet his. She gasped softly, nearly tripping on her leather boots as she shot off the porch to wrap her arms around his neck, yanking him in for a hug. His arms wound tightly around her waist, soaking in the warmth of her before she drew back to ask.

“When did you get out? Did you break out?!”

With a chuckle, Bec said. “God, no. This morning. I got out this morning.”

“Why didn’t you call? I would’ve come and got you.”

“Sof, it’s fine. I’m here and everything’s fine-” Bec’s eyes were drawn to whoever was moving out of the house after her and his eyes widened when he saw Amaund. He had no idea why he was so surprised, probably having something to do with the fact that his brain had tried to prepare him in the event that it was Amaund’s body that they found next. But he wasn’t dead, none of them were.

Amaund smiled. “You look horrible.”

With a watery scoff, Bec was seemingly pulled towards his brother, wrapping his arms around him. “I-I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. _Either_ of you.”

Amaund and Sofia met eyes over their brother, expressions sympathetic before the approaching sound of car wheels on gravel seemed to break the bubble of relief that their little reunion created. They all looked back to the driveway at the same time as a car pulled to a stop. He could tell that Sofia was about to start shouting at the driver to get lost but Bec rested a hand on her shoulder to quiet her. Swiftly, Bec crossed the yard to meet Alana as she stepped out of her vehicle.

Alana stopped in front of him, pulling her jacket tighter to her to fight off the cold. Her voice flat of any real happiness, Alana shrugged. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you,” Bec acknowledged. “Thank you for trying to help.”

Alana nodded but her gaze was downcasted, troubled by her thoughts. He knew exactly which ones. “You challenged my whole framework of assumptions about the way you are. The way I _think_ you are.”

“Well, the way you think I am isn't always a reliable guide to _who_ I really am.”

“I was wrong about you,” She said simply.

Bec raised a curious eyebrow at her, shrugging heavily. “Because you didn't believe me? Or in me? Because you let me question my sanity, my sense of reality?”

“Because you tried to kill Huesyth,” Alana proclaimed, face completely serious. “You're wrong about him, Bec.”

He wanted to laugh in her face. God, did he wish he was wrong. “No, _you're_ wrong about him, Alana. You see the best in him. I... don't.”

Not anymore, at least. That wound in his heart was still fresh and he didn’t need anyone poking around it. Bec could feel Amaund drawing nearer to his back, probably in response to the conversation they were having growing tenser.

“What was done to you doesn't excuse what you did,” Alana claimed, still clutching tightly to those bareboned morals of hers. “Are you going to try to hurt Huesyth again? Is he safe?”

“From me? Or for you?” Bec questioned sharply, eyes narrowed at the woman like he was in any position to judge her considering the state he was in. “Trust me, Alana, I know. I was exactly where you are now and you will see. You _will_. And when you do you will be heartbroken. He's dangerous. I suggest you stay as far away from Huesyth Cavalli as you can.”

“Everything okay over here?” Amaund asked as he came to stand by Bec’s side, eyeing Alana questioningly.

“We’re fine, Amaund,” Bec declared, not taking his eyes off of the woman. “Dr. Bloom was just leaving.”

A flash of hurt crossed Alana’s face but her mouth snapped shut, not trying to argue with him. Bec turned away from her, moving back to the house with Amaund following behind him and then with Sofia as well. When the front door shut behind them, Bec let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Sofia gestured into the snake room where Bec could see the warm glow of the heat lamps. “They’re all back where they belong,” She turned to him, expression softening. “And so are you.”

A small smile crossed Bec’s lips but something dark pulled him back down. “Not for long if I can’t get ahead of the Ripper.”

That managed to shift the mood of the room and Sofia sighed heavily, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets as she flopped herself down on the couch. Settling in for probably the weirdest and most disturbing conversation of her life.

“We still think it’s Dr. Cavalli?” She questioned.

“I know what I’ve seen,” Bec explained, flashes of his recovered memories still lingering. “My mind and I may not get along most of the time but this is something I’m sure of. Huesyth framed me.”

“If he really is the Chesapeake Ripper then he’s also the one that got you out,” Sofia reminded before her brow furrowed with unease. “You’re pregnant with his kid, Bec. You can’t ignore that forever.”

Though his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, Bec corrected. “ _Kids_. I… I’m having his kids.”

His siblings gave him odd looks before it seemed to click in their minds just what he meant but Amaund questioned. “ _What?_ ”

“They’re twins.”

They were quiet for a brief pause as they let the information sink in. “When did you find out?” Sofia asked.

“Had one last checkup while in the hospital because I passed out. The nurse figured me out.” Sofia’s face turned to pity and she reached out to loosely grip his hand. “You know that I’ll help with them as much as possible, right?”

He nodded slightly. “I know, Sof.”

“What are you going to do for work now that the FBI has abandoned you?” Amaund asked, a more practical form of thinking.

“I’ve got a lot of money put back. I should be fine for a while,” The empath shrugged. “Have you found anything out on Huesyth?”

Sofia and Amaund met eyes with each other as Bec stared into his brother. “I got pictures of a lot of his files on you from his office, some suspicious stuff at his house like wrapped up meat-”

“You were in his house?” Bec cut off. Amaund paused but nodded before Bec narrowed his eyes up at him. “Do you know what he would do to you if he finds out you were in his house?!”

“He has no idea that I was there,” Amaund assured, raising his hands in mock surrender. “It was the same night as his party. People were coming and going all night.”

With a heavy, disappointed sigh, Bec pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Dr. Bloom was passed out in Cavalli’s house for most of the night.”

It certainly renewed the curiosity and the worry of the others. “What?!” Bec demanded.

“I was creeping around and found her passed out in the living room without Huesyth around. My theory is he drugged her and used her for an alibi when he kidnapped Abel Gideon.”

The empath shook his head slightly in disbelief, a soft scoff. “She wants to believe so bad that not all of her friends are murderers but she just helped one escape arrest… How did you get into Dr. Cavalli’s house to begin with, Amaund?”

His older brother’s lips were pulled into a thin line and even Bec could feel the glare Sofia was shooting the taller man from behind him. Amaund stammered. “I… I, uh…”

“If you don’t tell him _I_ will,” Sofia seethed.

“ _Shut up_ , Sofia,” Amaund barked at the dark haired woman.

Confused, Bec peered back and forth between the two as they glared at each other, neither explaining the odd tension. “Tell me what? What happened?”

“I-” “Amaund has been sleeping with Huseyth’s older brother to get information.” “ _Sofia!_ ”

“What?” Sofia questioned. “It’s not like you were actually gonna tell him the truth.”

But as the two were snapping at one another, Bec’s mouth was parted in shock, eyes wide. Trying to remedy the situation, Amaund explained himself. “I’m not sleeping with him for information. I- It just ended up that way by accident.”

“You accidentally had sex? Multiple times?” Bec questioned with a raised eyebrow. “At least I owned up to it.”

“Listen, Delmar isn’t like his brother. He’s not a monster.”

“I thought that Huesyth wasn’t a monster and then he shoved a severed human ear down my throat,” Bec hissed at his brother, earning a slightly disgusted cringe from the taller man. “You have no idea what he’s capable of, Amaund. Break it off before they nail you to a cross with your guts tied into a bow or something.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Amaund stated.

“Huesyth would,” Bec corrected. Amaund’s mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth, his eyes downcasted. “Did you do a background check on either of them?”

Amaund sighed before hesitantly relenting, digging through his bag on the couch to pull out one of his notebooks. He quickly flipped through the pages. “Huesyth Jackson Cavalli, thirty-eight years old. Born in Trento, Italy but lived in a huge estate in the countryside with his older brother, Delmar, and their parents, Salvatore and Mia Cavalli. Salvatore was a real piece of work, beat his wife until she finally committed suicide by overdose… Turned his anger on his kids after that.”

Bec nodded in understanding. “I knew that much. He said that his brother was the one that murdered his father after that.”

Amaund gave a half-hearted shrug. “Well, that’s where it starts getting kinda blurry,” Bec raised an eyebrow at the taller man to get him to continue. “Yeah, the report says it was Delmar but there’s one thing that they seemed to ignore after Delmar took credit for the murder.”

“What’s that?” Sofia asked.

“When the cops arrived at the estate, Huesyth was holding his brother’s unconscious body. Delmar had passed out upstairs due to blood loss and a head injury. His father had whipped him with a belt so badly that he nearly bled out.”

“So?” Bec questioned.

“Their father’s body was found at the base of the stairs. There’s no way Delmar could’ve limped back up those stairs after doing something like that.”

Bec sighed softly. “Where was the murder weapon?”

Amaund’s eyes went back to his notes. “A hatchet. It was found upstairs in Delmar’s hand. There were gravitational blood droplets from the blade leading to the room he was in but it could’ve just been Huesyth planting the evidence.”

“...Do you think he framed his brother? How old was Huesyth when this happened?”

“He was twelve, Delmar was seventeen,” The taller man hesitated, expression torn. “Not necessarily framed. I think Delmar took credit so that his brother wouldn’t get in trouble. He felt guilty about not being the one to do it to begin with.”

Uncertain, Bec’s brow furrowed and he turned his attention out the window. “You think Huesyth was a murderer when he was barely in middle school?”

“Did I mention that he was in the room when his mom died?” Bec’s eyes snapped back over to Amaund. “He was six.”

The sympathy that rose in Bec’s mind was quickly pushed down. “Trauma doesn’t excuse anything.”

Amaund shook his head. “I’m not trying to excuse what he did to you. Or anyone else. I’m telling you he’s been a manipulative, murderous bastard for a long time and he’s got his brother wrapped around his little finger because Delmar feels guilty.”

“None of this is damning evidence, Amaund.” “But-” “Not only did Delmar confess and do the time, but their father was also a total prick and, trust me, no one wants justice for an abusive prick. Least of all the FBI. They’ll probably give Huesyth a medal if you try to prove he killed his father.”

Sofia stared at them as they conversed, expression growing more and more hopeless. Though a pause grew heavy between them, Amaund sighed softly. “He’s got plastic wrapped meat in his fridge. Some of it has to be human especially if he eats as much as the Chesapeake Ripper kills.”

“We’d need a warrant… and probable cause. Jack probably doesn’t trust me that much anymore and the FBI sure as hell doesn’t.”

Another quiet pause before Sofia murmured. “So we have nothing. You risked your life for nothing but a quick screw.”

Though Amaund gave her another dirty look, Bec slid a hand down his face in frustration. “I’m starting to get a headache. I gotta take a shower before I lose my mind… again.”

Before the empath could step out of the room, Amaund added quickly. “Bec… I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more helpful.”

A brief pause before Bec turned to face his brother again. “It wasn’t a total waste but I mean it… Break it off with the brother while you still have time.”

Sofia sighed. “Bec, I know you’re afraid-” “I’m not afraid. I’m angry,” Bec cut off with a curl of his lip. “He’s taken so much from me… from everyone. Anyone that’s come into contact with him is victims of Huesyth Cavalli in one way or another.”

The truth of his words seemed to darken the mood even more than it already was but the empath continued. “Stay as far away from him as you can. I don’t need him going after one of you to get back at me, okay?”

“So you just want us to drop all of this?” Sofia questioned with a raised brow. “Just like that? You bust out of the nut house and suddenly you don’t need us anymore?”

Bec furrowed his brow, explaining. “Sofia, you know that is the last thing that I want. But the closer you are to me, the more danger you and your family are in. I’m not risking you guys. I’d rather he cut my tongue out than touch you.”

It seemed to shake her usually unwavering base, the reality of their own helplessness setting in. He didn’t mean to scare them but he also knew that he could drop a body on their doorsteps and they wouldn’t bat an eye. They’d probably help him hide the body if only to keep him safe. For the first time in the months since Bec was in the hospital, at that moment, he finally felt like he wasn’t surrounded by traitors, liars, or murderers. He could breathe again if only for a short moment.

It was one of the greatest solaces he’d ever experienced.

 

She closed the dorm’s door behind them as they entered the compact room, turning back to address the empath standing in her room. The left sleeve of her FBI hoodie sleeve was now filled with a prosthetic arm held at a stiff right angle at her side. It looked as uncomfortable as she did.

“Are you an FBI agent?” Miriam asked.

“No. Uh... I used to teach at the academy. And, uh, two days ago, I was an inmate at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane…” Bec flashed her arm another look. “Courtesy of the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Slowly, Miriam gave a shaky nod, stepping around the empath in her way. “Well, the Guru told me the only person who had any practical understanding of the Ripper was you. But he didn't mention that you were a victim.”

“Guru?” Bec queried.

“Jack Crawford,” Miriam explained. “He has a peculiar cleverness.”

Bec nodded in understanding but was far less impressed with the nickname. “The Guru tells me that you don't remember much about what the Ripper did to you. I couldn't remember either.”

“Couldn’t?”

“Oh, I remember now,” Bec told, pacing calmly around Miriam’s designated space. Bland walls, a simple bed with a half-full glass of lukewarm water on the side table, dim lighting. “Uh... not all of it. Pieces. I was... under his influence. He used some kind of light to induce a seizure response in my brain. It created blackouts and lost time.”

Miriam let out a soft breath, fighting with the familiarity of what he was describing. Even within the safety of the FBI headquarters, it was still terrifying to recall. “I remember the light. He, uh, would stand in front of it, at a distance from me, silhouetted, very still. He would listen to chamber music. I still hear that.” She sat at one of the chairs and Bec moved to the couch space next to her. “And his voice, low and even, would pull me to him. Safe... Like a current.”

Miriam seemed to trail off in the memories and Bec pulled her back. “You and I are... part of his design. He _wanted_ you to be free. He wanted me to be free too.”

She furrowed her brow. “Neither of us are really free. He's not done.”

 

The approaching footsteps, the clatter of keys as they were placed on the stainless steel countertop. He turned to the fridge, hand gripping the handle before his whole body froze. A scent hit his nose, familiar and comforting but seemingly dampened with a bitter bite of hatred that left a sour taste in the back of his mouth. The fire was gone, only leaving the scent of the ashes.

Without turning to where he knew his guest was waiting in the shadows, Huesyth said. “The same unfortunate aftershave. Too long in the bottle.”

He opened the refrigerator but the light from within illuminated the barrel of a gun pointed at his head, Bec glaring at him from behind it.

Huesyth stared, again between the gun and the man holding it before Bec began to speak. “Our last kitchen conversation was interrupted by Jack Crawford. I'd like to pick up where we left off. If memory serves, you were asking me... if it would feel _good_ to kill you.”

Turning hesitantly to face the empath more clearly, Huesyth inquired. “You've given that some thought.”

“You wanted me to embrace my nature, Doctor. I'm just following the urges I kept down for so long, cultivating them as the inspirations they are.”

“You never answered my question,” Huesyth reminded, taking a half step forward. “How would killing me make you feel?”

“ _Righteous_ ,” The empath snarled, the gun moving up suddenly and causing the doctor to flinch backward. But the weapon didn’t go off.

“Aren't you curious, Bec?” Huesyth began as he straightened up. “Why you? Why Miriam Lass? What does the Chesapeake Ripper want with you?”

“No, you tell me. How did Miriam Lass find you? You made sure no one could find you that way again.”

Huesyth looked past the gun barrel and into Bec’s dark eyes. “If I'm not the Ripper, you murder an innocent man. You better than anyone knows what it means to be wrongly accused. You were innocent and no one saw it.”

“No, I'm not innocent,” Bec snapped. “You saw to that.”

“If I am the Ripper and you kill me, who will answer your questions? Don't you want to know how this ends?”

Bec doesn’t respond, his head tipping to the side slightly as a small, bitter smile pulled at his lips. He stepped up close, putting the gun right in Huesyth’s face, clicking the hammer back and causing the doctor to flinch and close his eyes at his own impending death. But a beat of silence passed between them and neither of them moved. Neither made a sound, waiting for the other to react in violence.

Huesyth’s eyes slid open, looking into the space of darkness that Bec once resided in and finding it empty.

 

The house was clean, white and sterile, much like a hospital. It was easier than expected to pick the locks to the home and set up the scene in Chilton’s basement with Gideon’s body as the centerpiece. He heard when Chilton entered, followed the steady beeps into the basement and then silence… before fast approaching, panicked steps raced up the basement stairs until he saw Chilton run into view. Before he could reach the door, however, he fell headlong over a pile of packed suitcases. They weren’t there before.

The other doctor was sprawled across the floor, shaking and quivering as he rushed to get up, but a pair of well-shined shoes stepped into his view. He followed them up the plastic covered body until he reached the familiar face.

“Hello, Frederick,” Huesyth greeted.

“Oh my god,” Chilton muttered from the floor.

Huesyth regarded him calmly before the sudden knocks on the front door behind them, two shadowy figures appearing behind the frosted glass. “That will be the FBI.”

Chilton immediately shot up from the floor, trying to sprint past the taller man and shout for help but a hand wrapped around his face. A chloroform rag was shoved over his face as he struggled against Huesyth’s front.

“When you wake up,” The taller man whispered harshly into Chilton’s ear as he faded. “Your only choice will be to run.”

The agents at the door rang the doorbell impatiently and Huesyth called out to them politely. “One moment, please.”

The fight began to melt out of Chilton’s body before he finally slumped back, slowly falling to the ground at Huesyth’s feet. Casually, the taller man crossed over to the door and opened it.

 

He heard the car approach his home before he saw it, along with the clatter of the driver’s side door and the trunk. Stepping onto the front porch, Bec saw Chilton stumbling up to his steps, his usually pristine clothes rumpled and spattered with blood, a suitcase clenched in one hand.

Chilton stared from the other side of the porch, breathing heavy through his panic. “May I use your shower, please?”

Less than an hour later, Chilton was pacing the length of Bec’s living room, freshly showered with his clothes changed, brain working in overtime as the empath observed him. Bec really had no idea why he let the other doctor into his home but he guessed it had something to do with his own perverse curiosity.

The doctor began stuffing his things back into the suitcase. “I have the same profile as Huesyth Cavalli. Same medical and psychological background. We are both doctors of note in our field. Of course, it would be me! Huesyth was never going to kill me. I'm his patsy. I... I have to leave the country. I am leaving the country.”

With a raised brow, Bec watched the doctor spiral out of control, wishing that Huesyth was that easy to toy with and thanking whatever higher power that was that he wasn’t that easy to play with anymore. He shook his head at Chilton’s ill thought out plan. “No, if you run, you look guilty.”

“You did not run and you looked plenty guilty,” Chilton badgered as he angrily shoved more of his clothes into his bag. “Abel Gideon was _half-eaten_ in my guest room. I have _corpses_ on my property. You just threw up an ear.”

“There's an APB on you right now,” Bec tried to calmly reason. “They've canceled credit cards, they're tracing your phone.”

“I have cash and I tossed my phone,” Chilton quickly explained as he dragged on another heavy jacket. Frumpy and shapeless compared to his usual carefully cut silhouette of sharp suits. “Jack Crawford thinks I killed two agents - _three_ agents. Do you know what tends to happen to people who do that? Shoot on sight.”

Bec stared at the man, terrified out of his mind at the prospect of a twenty-five to life or worse, a death sentence, and took pity on him. “I'm going to prove Huesyth Cavalli is the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“I know you will. And when you do, I will read about it from a secure location and I will reintroduce myself to society at that time.”

A low rumble of another approaching vehicle had Chilton’s hand whipping around to the living room window, staring in fear when he recognized Jack’s SUV. He sighed heavily in disbelief as he stepped back, looking wide-eyed to the empath staring at him. “Bec... What have you done?”

“I called Jack Crawford,” Bec responded simply.

Chilton shook his head slowly. “No. N... No. No,” His hand dug into his jacket pocket to whip out a gun and point it at a suddenly wary Bec. But the empath was less affected than he thought, rising steadily from his chair without a hint of fear to face the other doctor head on despite Chilton shouting at him. “No. No! No! No, stay there!”

Bec noticed that Chilton’s hand shook as he gripped the pistol tightly, much like how Bec’s did when he faced off against Hobbs or Huesyth for the first time. It got easier over time.

He looked to the gun and then back to Chilton, unimpressed. “You’re not a killer, Frederick.”

The empath turns, moving to the front door and leaving Chilton, alone and shaking. Jack trudged to the snow up to the house as Bec exited to ask. “Why’d you come alone, Jack?”

“Where is he?”

“Why’d you come alone?” Bec repeated, more firmly.

Jack shouted. “ _Where is he?!_ ”

But Bec stuck a hand out to stop him before he could reach the house. “Hey, I told you, everything is _not_ what it seems. The Chesapeake Ripper is still playing with us. All of us.”

The older agent wagged a finger in Bec’s face. “The Chesapeake Ripper is not playing all of us, Bec. He's playing _you._ ”

Jack went to enter but Bec stepped into his way. “Jack, wait. I'll bring him out. He's got a gun.”

The empath went to move into his house but Jack simply snapped a quick, “Good.”

Pushing past the shorter man and entering the house, leaving Bec alone on the porch. Moments of peaceful silence went swinging by before the echoes of gunshots rang out across the expanse of the woods, ringing against the branches.

Jack’s gunshots in the woods didn’t kill Frederick or even hit him but later, in the custody of the FBI, nothing stopped Miriam from wrenching Jack’s gun out of his holster and firing a shot through the one-way mirror to hit the other doctor through the cheek.

 

The clock ticked steadily in the quiet of the office as he raised the glass of wine to his nose, inhaling the aroma before taking a savored sip. A sudden knock at the door disturbed the peace, his head shooting up to face it. He sat his wine and notebook aside as he stood from his desk, moving curiously to the door before opening it.

An immediate, relaxing scent seemed to hit him in the face, one he’d associated with some of the most favored moments of his life. Then the figure in the center of his waiting room turned to him and he was greeted by a face that seemed to haunt even his waking mind. Trimmed and neatly styled coiling curls, groomed stubble to better compliment his face, clothes pressed of all the wrinkles and hanging just loose enough to tease his attractive figure. With a gleam of something predatory in his eye, Bec raised a clever brow at him as he let the doctor take in his more polished look.

For a brief moment, Huesyth was sure this was another look that the figment of his imagination took on but Bec spoke first. “May I come in?”

Swallowing quietly, Huesyth questioned. “Do you intend to point a gun at me?”

A smile broke across Bec’s face and he approached the door, Huesyth letting him enter. “Not tonight.”

The empath dragged careful fingers across the front of Huesyth’s clothed abs, causing his stomach to clench. He watched Bec’s back as he moved into the obvious. “Are you expecting someone?”

“Only you,” Huesyth answered.

“Kept my standing appointment open?”

Slowly, Huesyth checked his wristwatch for the time. “And you're right on time.”

Bec scanned the office, the second floor above them, the statues and art. He must have already known every detail but it seemed things had shifted ever so slightly in his absence. “I have to deal with you and my feelings for you. I think it's best if I do that directly.”

Huesyth approached the empath who still had turned to look at him. “First you have to grieve for what is lost and what has changed.”

“I've changed,” Bec revealed. “You changed me.”

“The relationship that we had is over. The Chesapeake Ripper is over.”

Bec scoffed softly but noticeably. “It had to be Miriam, didn't it? She was compelled to take his life so she could take her own back.”

Huesyth questioned. “How will you take your life back?”

Finally, Bec turned to the doctor with a raised brow. “I'd like to resume my therapy.”

Watching as Bec stepped away to take his familiar seat across from Huesyth’s chair, the doctor followed after a long moment and sat opposite to him.

Huesyth settled back into his chair as he took in Bec in all of his new found glory. “Where shall we begin?”

The corners of Bec’s mouth threatened to curl into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	8. “Su-zakana”

Hazy winter light shone through the gaps in the skeletal trees around them, a trail of two sets of footprints led up to the men sitting around the hole in the ice.

Jack breathed a puff of frosty air, clapping his gloved hands together. He was certainly out of his element. “I get it. The great outdoors. I get the attraction. In summer.”

They laughed together, Bec managing to be pleasant to his former boss for once as he unhooked a live fish from his line. “Well... It's a lot harder to catch trout when the water is really cold.”

“That's another argument for summer, Bec,” Jack complained with a chuckle. “But trout are supposed to be hunters. They should be chewing on my hook here.”

“Yeah, when it's cold, their metabolisms drop and they're not as hungry.”

Jack stared at his fishing pole as it disappeared into the dark, chilly water beyond the ice hole. “Yeah, so how do you catch a fish that isn't hungry?”

“Change your tactics. Use live bait that moves and excites them to action. Yo-You gotta make him bite even though he's not hungry.”

They met eyes across the hole and Jack nodded. “Make him act on instinct. He's always a predator.”

Bec shrugged. “You have to create a reality where only you and the fish exist. Your lure is the one thing he wants, despite everything he knows.”

“Make a wrong move, he swims away?” Jack questioned.

“Yeah,” Bec agreed but he could sense the hesitancy in the older agent. “I'm a good fisherman, Jack.”

“You hook him, I'll land him.”

They sit opposite still but the scene had changed. Instead of them surrounded by the cold of the ice fishing hole, they are in the doctor’s darkened dining room. Listening to Huesyth’s approaching footsteps as he entered with their completed dishes. Bec could make out the tails of the blue-skinned trout that Bec had provided the doctor, intertwined with tentacles of a small octopus and roasted vegetables.

“Truite saumonée au bleu with vegetables and broth, served with a hollandaise sauce on the side,” Huesyth pulled one of the twisted fish from the tray and put it on Jack’s tray before complimenting. “Beautiful fish, Bec.”

“It was my turn to provide the meat,” Bec explained.

“More flavorful and firm than farmed specimens,” Huesyth said, moving over to Bec’s side to give him his own fish. “I find the trout to be a very Nietzschean fish. Trials of his wild existence find their way into the flavor of the flesh.”

The doctor pours a simple broth into the dish with the fish before going back around to Jack’s side. “I hope ‘providing the meat’ doesn't mean you still harbor doubts about what I serve at my table.”

The empath met eyes with the older agent across the table, getting the clue to not answer when Jack spoke first. “No doubts, Dr. Cavalli. Only the, uh... Wounds we dealt each other until we got to the truth.”

“Which is why we need to move past apologies and forgiveness,” Huesyth said, finally taking a seat at the head of the table. “Chilton has many victims besides the dead. We will absorb this experience. It will change us. Well, we are all Nietzschean fish in that regard.”

“Makes us tastier,” Bec idly commented.

Huesyth raised an eyebrow at the younger man but Jack cut in again. “None of our actions were personal.”

“I tried to have Dr. Cavalli killed. Isn't that personal?” Bec questioned, sipping his water while ignoring the white wine that the doctor paired with the fish. Not being able to drink his feelings away was definitely in his top five problems with being pregnant.

“You thought I was a killer. The greatest crime now would be to walk away from what we've shared and suffered. In many ways, we need each other. We are the only ones who will know what this feels like.”

Bec took a bite of the fish, chewing quickly and finally not feeling sick as he knew there wasn't anything human in the dish. “This fish is delicious.”

Huesyth held his gaze, giving a small smile. “Isn’t it?”

He sipped from his wine, looking between his two guests.

 

The face of the dead horse stared back at him, it’s hazy eyes looking up at the ceiling but seeing nothing. He ran one of his gloved hands across its neck soothingly, almost unconsciously, as Jack stood over him. “I agree with the pagans. The horse is divine. All beasts of burden are sacred animals.”

Jack observed the slice in the horse’s gut, its organs spilled across the floor of the stall that the nude body of a woman that was entangled within it was removed from. “This kind of mutilation usually presents as cult activity.”

By their sides, Jimmy snapped quick pictures of the carnage, the cut open sutures across the horse’s stomach, and the woman’s body that was laid across a plastic sheet. “When an animal is sacrificed, it's presumed the power of the beast will be psychically transported to whoever's offering up the goods.”

“Which is why sacrificial animals should be healthy, without any defects,” Huesyth explained. “This horse was sick.”

“The womb was more or less intact. The victim was deceased before she was enwombed.” Brian explained, shining a handheld blacklight over the dark marks on the woman’s neck. “The ecchymosis of the subcutaneous tissue is consistent with-” “She was strangled,” Jimmy cut in quickly, turning back to Brian. “It’s a little wordy.”

“Yeah…” Brian tucked the blacklight away, peeling back one of her eyelids to see the red encompassing the whites of her eyes. “She was scrappy. She put up a fight, Jack.”

“The horse is a chrysalis,” Huesyth guessed, standing up straight. “Cocoon meant to hold the young woman until her death could be transformed.”

“Transformed into what?” Jack questioned.

“Life. A  _ new _ life. This is a birth,” But Huesyth shrugged. “Or it was intended to be. This is every bit as much about giving life as it is taking it.”

“What’s the thinking here, doctor?”

Huesyth studied the macabre madness scattered in front of him. “Conflicted. I see what he's done. I don't understand why he's done it. This killer doesn't think like anyone else, Jack. You'll have to find someone who doesn't think like anyone else to catch him.”

Jack and the doctor made eye contact, knowing full well who Huesyth was referring to.

 

Pale light from the window reflected onto her face as she scanned the fluttering snowflakes outside, her face stoic with her light brown hair straightened to her shoulders. Her clothing was expensive but minimalistic with a dark navy jacket and a crisp white button up with a metal cuff around the neck to keep it straight. It made the cheap hospital sling her right arm was in seem all the more out of place.

She turned to him, brow furrowed as Huesyth began speaking. “You are no more at fault for what happened to you than if you had been bitten by a mad dog.”

“Mad dogs are put down,” Margot seethed, her facade of calmness wavering.

“Is that what you hoped to accomplish when you attacked your brother?”

“Well, apparently, I went about ‘putting him down’ the wrong way. He's still alive.”

Huesyth raised his eyebrows at the younger woman. “Doing bad things to bad people makes us feel good. What's your relationship with him now? Has it changed?”

She blinked. “I think he thinks I've calmed down.”

“Have you?” Huesyth asked.

Her shoulders raised with a sigh. “Oh, I’m calm.”

Huesyth cocked his head to the side slightly. “Are you going to try again?”

Margot studied him before giving a breathy snicker, slowly approaching the seat across from Huesyth. “This is where therapy gets a little tricky.”

“It doesn't have to be tricky.”

She came to a standstill in front of the chair without sitting down, her body still tense. “I could confess to a murder. You can't say a word. I could've murdered someone this morning and you can't say a word. But if I'm  _ planning  _ to commit a murder…”

“I am ethically obliged to take action to prevent that murder,” Huesyth offered. “But be that as it may, if there's no one else to protect you, Margot, you have to protect yourself. It would actually have been more therapeutic if you had killed him.”

 

Horses in their stalls communicated their nervousness like an electric current passing through the air. He moved in front of their stalls, the horses following his movements curiously. Bec stopped, looking down at the thick file Jack provided him and scanned through the information and the photo of the woman’s body found within the womb of a dead horse. It was enough. He let the file fall closed and then his eyes.

The pendulum swung brightly, boldly.  _ His eyes opened again to the deep rural darkness, the horses looking on nervously as he ran a soothing hand down the back of one of the horses. Sliding a hood over its eyes in an attempt to relax it. _

“I don't want you to see me. I don't want you to see what I do. But I want to calm you, comfort you.”

_ He stroked the horse’s neck, speaking gently.  _ “There's so much comfort in the darkness but not for one of you.”

_ Sliding a large needle into its neck, the horse quickly began struggling to keep standing until it collapsed to the floor of the hay covered stall. _

_ Cradling her limp body, he carried the dead woman into the stall as well, placing her gently onto the ground. _

“I took your life... And tried to give it back to you.”

_ Next to her, a small draped cage. He pulled away the deep red drape to reveal a live robin which immediately began to flutter inside. _

_ Taking up a knife, he began to slice open the dead horse’s abdomen. It was hard work, taking real effort.  _ “I find the womb, and place you inside.”

_ The cage was empty, the body was gone, and he sewed up the bloody wound in the horse’s belly. _

“I hope that the forces of death and biology... Will bring you... Rebirth.”

Bec opened his eyes, his hands-free of the stain of horse blood and instead still holding the file. “It was a coffin birth,” Bec stated without facing the older agent watching him. “Decomposition builds up gasses inside the putrefying body which force the dead fetus out of its mother's corpse. It's really more of a prolapse than a birth. But whoever did this knew the horse. Knew she was dying because her foal was born dead. He knew Sarah Craber. He was familiar with the stables. He knew when he wouldn't get caught. And he works here, or maybe... maybe used to work here. He has medical knowledge of animals, but he's not a veterinarian. He... He considers himself a healer.”

The empath never really notice when he stuffed one of his hands in the pocket of his long coat to feel against his stomach. He did that a lot and never noticed but something ached at the thought of losing his kids to something like nature deciding it wasn’t his time. Every little thing seemed to make him worry now. When he was locked up all he had to think about was survival, survival, survival. His own selfish survival at any costs.

But he was out now and thinking back on his actions made him sick.

Jack looked at the stain left behind by the carnage. “How is this healing?”

“Sarah Craber was reborn. This wasn't murder, Jack. This was  _ grief. _ ”

 

The SUV pulled up to the reclusive, weathered buildings, a black horse trotting aimlessly around its pen. It stopped and stared at them curiously as they exited the vehicle.

Jack knocked loudly on the door frame as they entered. The first building may have been dark but it was filled with low sounds of scratching, skittering, breathing, and squeaks. The entire room seemed to be alive, every wall stacked floor to ceiling with cages and kennels of different wild animals. It seemed to erupt with noises at their loud introduction, rushing about their cages in agitation.

“Scare them when ya knock like that,” A voice from within the store told.

Bec and Jack look over the tops of the cages to see a man, weathered and lean with an unruly mullet of dark hair and untrimmed mustache. Wild looking himself with a scar on his forehead and the side of his head. Jack asked. “Peter Bernardone?”

He seemed unbothered by the agent and empath entering his space, far more worried about the rowdy animals he was quieting.

“Sir?” Jack questioned. “You don't seem to be curious about who we are.”

Peter didn’t look up at them, eyes flicking around over the cages before he stuttered. “Who are you?”

“I'm Agent Jack Crawford with the FBI,” Jack introduced and Peter nodded quickly. “This is Bec Reyes. We're here to ask you some questions about someone you may have had contact with when you worked at the Blackbriar Stables. A woman named Sarah Craber. Her body was recently found in, uh... Unusual circumstances-” “I know. I know. I heard,” Peter mumbled, still facing away from the other two men.

Bec observed the doves and pigeons kept in a few of the cages next to him, fluttering gently as they hooted to each other. “There was a bird in her chest. Did you hear about that?”   
That seemed to pique the other man’s interest, he moved slightly in Bec’s direction. “Was the bird alive?”

“Yes,” Bec responded.

A flicker of relief crossed across Peter’s face. “Who... who... who taking care of the bird?”

“How well did you know Sarah Craber?” Jack pressed again in an attempt to get more information out of the skittish man.

“I didn't know her,” Peter answered unconvincingly.

“Would you mind looking at a photo?”

Peter shook his head, turning away again to murmur to a caged rabbit by his side. “I... I know who she is. I didn't... didn't know her.”

Jack tugged the photograph out of his long coat. “Just... Take a look to be sure.”

The older agent held the photo out to the other man but Peter hesitated before sticking his arm out backward, wiggling his fingers without looking at the photo so that Jack had to reach forward and put it into his hand. Peter gazed at the picture before suddenly repeating the movement, not looking back at Jack. He took the picture back, exchanging an odd look with the empath.

“Did you get your head injury when you were working at the stables, Peter?” Bec asked.

“Yeah, k-kicked by a horse,” Peter agreed quickly, motioning to the large scar on the side of his head. “Boom.”

“That's an atypical motor response. Peter's abilities to look and touch can only happen as separate events. It's aggravated by stress, right?”

Peter glanced briefly over his shoulder in Bec’s direction, exposed but somehow understood.

But Jack was looking at the man skeptically, Bec knew he was starting to assume the worst of the odd man. “Are you feeling under stress?”

“Yeah, I'm worried about the bird. Worried about the bird. I'm sad for her death, sad for the horse, but I... I can only... only help the bird.”

He turned away again, looking back to the cages as the two met eyes again. They managed to leave without much of a fuss but as they walked back to the vehicle, Bec added. “Well, he knew the victim. He knew the animals involved.”

“We'll need a warrant.”

“I don't know if he's the killer, Jack. If he is, he never meant to be. And if he isn't, he knows who is.”

 

“You were able to reconstruct this killer's fantasies,” Huesyth expressed to the listening empath. “One dead creature giving birth to another. The bird, his victim's new beating heart. Her soul given wings.”

Bec hadn’t made eye contact with the doctor since taking a seat across from him, only staring at the floor on the other side of the office. “Rebirths can only ever be symbolic.”

“You’ve been reborn.”

His attention was finally drawn to the taller man. “Wasn't that the goal of my therapy?”

The doctor paused before continuing. “How does it feel consulting again with Jack Crawford and the FBI? Last time it nearly destroyed you.”

Ah, deflection. A very obvious one at that but the empath played along. “Last time  _ you _ nearly destroyed me.”

Huesyth sighed, looking down. “After everything that has happened, Bec, you still believe-” “Stop right there,” Bec demanded. “You may have to pretend, but I don't.”

The doctor stared at the younger man and all his feisty quips before giving a quirk of a smile, quickly smoothed over. “No, you don't. Not with me.”

“I don't expect you to admit anything. You can't. But I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Cavalli.  _ Don't  _ lie to me.”

“Will you return the courtesy?” Huesyth coaxed. “Why have you resumed your therapy?”

“Can't just talk to any psychiatrist about what's kicking ‘round my head.”

Huesyth gauged the empath thoughtfully before suddenly asking. “Do you fantasize about killing me?”

Like most things in his relationship with Huesyth, the images he had conjured in Bec’s mind were odd. He had fantasized about the death of almost every person he’d ever met but as soon as he met Huesyth, Bec had begun imagining his own death far more often. Imagining himself sliced open on a morgue table and having his guts pulled out. Being skewered through the racks of antlers on Hobbs’ cabin wall while Huesyth pressed biting kisses against his neck. It used to scare him but he wrote most of them down in that bound journal that the doctor had gifted him.

He hid the journal before he was arrested. It was probably still tucked away in his house, untouched by the infesting FBI investigators that plagued his home the day of his arrest. He was glad they didn’t find it. If they did they could’ve probably used it as evidence to back up their claim of Bec being an obsessive serial killer that wanted to end his spree with the death of the psychologist that tried to help him, the psychologist that he had murderous wet dreams about. Genius but they weren’t bright enough.

Bec thought idly that he should probably burn the journal. Burn the memories of his lovesick ramblings and heated, grotesque dreams surrounding his connection to Huesyth. Burn the string that ran between them, kept them together. He needed to burn that away.

Staring into the doctor’s eyes, Bec answered truthfully with a simple. “Yes.”

“Tell me. How would you do it?”

Bec considered a moment, thinking back on his vengeful daydreams within the confines of his cell. “With my hands.”

Huesyth blinked but Bec could tell the signs of the slight spike in arousal that rose in the doctor even if he didn’t acknowledge it. He buried it like everything else. “Then we haven't moved past apologies and forgiveness, have we?”

“We've moved past a lot of things. I discovered a truth about myself when I tried to have you killed.”

“That doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good?”

With a quick nod, Bec mumbled. “Yes.”

“I need to know if you're going to try to kill me again, Bec.”

Tipping his head to the slide slightly, Bec let the tip of his tongue peek out of his mouth to wet his lips. “I don't want to kill you anymore, Dr. Cavalli. Not now that I finally find you interesting.”

 

The sky was a certain type of dark that seemed to swallow all around it but the empath looked out over the field with the deep dark holes dug into the snow-covered ground, sixteen in all. Some bodies already being carted away by FBI investigators, others were still being observed. Large spotlights turned the night time scene to day and Bec’s shoulders felt just as heavy as the last crime scene he had been at before his arrest.

Bec stopped in front of one of the graves as they removed a woman’s body from it, laying her out on a plastic sheet when a voice broke his concentration.

“Bec…” The empath didn’t turn to face Brian when he spoke from behind him but he made a motion to show he was listening. “I owe you an apology.”   
“You don't owe me anything,” Bec told him over his shoulder.

“I thought you were a killer. I didn't want to hear anything else. So, I wouldn't consider anything else.”

Bec turned slightly more. “The evidence was compelling.”

“That didn't stop Beverly from questioning it,” The empath’s chest clenched at the name and he finally faced Brian fully. “Maybe if she thought we would have listened, she would have come to us. She didn't.”

And there laid a devastating pain for all of them. Brian stuck a gloved hand out to the shorter man, an act of peace that Bec took, shaking the man’s offered hand. As Brian pulled his hand back, Jack trudged over to the two men and began speaking to the empath without questioning their interaction.

“We traced the soil we found in Sarah Craber's throat to this vicinity,” The older agent explained. “Methane probes did the rest. Found her empty grave... And fifteen others that are not so empty.”

Bec nodded, staring out over the field of dead women. “If Peter Bernardone knew about Sarah Craber's grave, then he knew about all the others.”

Jack turned to stare into the side of Bec’s head.

 

He leaned back in his chair. “Every human being is capable of committing acts of great cruelty. Your brother dehumanized you, and your family, unfortunately, fosters that climate of disrespect.”

Margot looked away from him. “They think I'm weird.”

“I'm much weirder than you will ever be, Margot. It's fine to be weird.”

Margot sighed, her heels clicking against the wood of his office floor as she approached. “They've already forgiven him. Talk shows and self-help books, they thrive on this sort of thing. Everybody loves a sinner redeemed,” She sat heavily in the chair across from him. “The prodigal son, set about repairing his ways. He may have made bad choices before. But now he can make new, better choices.”

“Do you believe that?” Huesyth asked. 

“Do you believe me?” Margot shot back.

Huesyth offered a slight shrug. “Well, it's not my role to believe you, Margot; it's my role to help you understand what you believe.”

Frustratingly and cryptically noncommittal but Margot played along. “I believe my brother won't stop.”

“How does it make you feel?”

Short and simple, Margot answered with an airy breath. “Angry.”

“Anger is an energizing emotion; prompts action against a threat. If you're angry, you're optimistic you can stop this from happening again.”

“Oh, I know how to stop it,” Margot huffed, sitting back against the chair she was in and averting her eyes from the older man.

What an unexpectedly bratty reaction. “If you really want to kill your brother, Margot. Wait until you can get away with it. Or find someone to do it for you.”

 

Returning to where he’d first met the odd animal lover, Bec sat across the table from Peter, a basic metal cage containing the bird sitting between them to act as a buffer so that the empath could coax conversation out of the other man. “You said you were worried about the bird. Thought you might like to see it.”

“But isn't... isn't it the evidence?” Peter questioned.

“I'm not FBI,” Bec explained. “I used to sort of be FBI. But now I'm really not.”

Peter stared at the bird in the cage in front of them. “I... I didn't... didn't kill... kill anyone. I…”

“I know that, but... Yeah. It's not always relevant. They found Sarah Craber's grave. How'd you find it?”

A soft tweet interrupted him. Peter’s attention seemed to drift from the empath and focused back on the bird with a smile. “She... She's already speaking to me.”

“This one's spoken to you before,” Bec noticed, leaning forward to observe the bird as well. “At some point, almost every society believed birds carried our souls to the afterlife.”

“You... You think I think this bird is... Is Sarah?” Peter asked. “She's gone. She's everywhere and nowhere. She…”

He didn’t look away from the cage when he demanded softly. “Tell me who killed her.”

Peter went still, conflicted with inner turmoil before giving a soft sob. “I just wanted something beautiful for her.”

“You were grieving her. You couldn't save her, but you could bring poetry to her death.”

“I wanted you to find me. I wanted you to find me 'cause if you could find me, you could... Could... You could find  _ him _ .”

“Do you have a shadow, Peter?” Bec asked, furrowing his brow at the other man. “Someone only you can see. Someone you considered a friend. He made you feel less alone... Until you saw what he really is.”

_ Reel it back in. You can’t be getting attached. _

“ _ No _ ... No one will believe me. He'll make sure no one will believe me.”

“I’ll make sure they do.”   
  


“Every social worker enjoys certain aspects of the job more than others. There are cases that you reach and cases you don't reach.”

Clark Ingram was a neatly kept man, a white, straight smile that avoided reaching emotionless eyes. Alana must’ve noticed as she stared across the interrogation table at him. “Your notes on Peter Bernardone's file are _ drastically  _ different than the ones from his last caseworker.”

“The social services system is far from perfect,” Ingram explained, clinical and almost scripted. “It's common to omit certain information on difficult cases in order to clear a path in the world for those stuck in the weeds. Peter's had persistent cognitive problems. Confusion, paranoia, rage. Would have refused his case if I had known.”

“You don't seem to feel sorry for your client. A surprising lack of empathy in a social worker.”

A surprising lack of empathy in a human being.

“Peter Bernardone has accused me of killing sixteen women.”

“How does that make you feel?” Alana asked.

“Right now I'm feeling inconvenienced. I'm being detained on the word of one very damaged individual.”

“You're not being detained, you're being interviewed. The FBI is just being thorough,” Alana looked down to the notebook in front of her to scribble a note and Ingram’s smile immediately fell. Quickly, returning the cheery look when she looked up again. Automatically. A mask.

“What are you writing down?” Ingram questioned.

“An observation.”

“About me?”

Alana smiled back to him, reaching across the table almost instinctively to touch Ingram’s hand. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

He pulled back away from her. His face changing, eyes going sharp and cold but he smiled again.

The empath watched intently through the other side of the two-way mirror. “That's smart. She keeps pushing him on his feelings, not on the facts. She's trying to gauge how comfortable he is with emotion if he has any. He couldn't bear being touched by her.”

Huesyth, by his side, insisted. “Yes, his responses are typical of psychopaths during interviews, but could also be resentment.”

But Bec looked back to the social worker beyond the glass, unaware of their presence. “No, his eyes are dead. He's a predator.”

In the interrogation room, Alana continued the interview. “Did you know Sarah Craber?”

“No. Although Peter talked about here extensively during our house visits. I'd say he was obsessed with her.”

“Do you think Peter Bernardone is capable of murder?”

“I'm not a psychiatrist, Dr. Bloom.”

With a slight nod, Alana made another note. “I'm curious, Mr. Ingram. Why did you become a social worker?”

“Society needs caring people,” Ingram answered.

“It also needs a few psychopaths... To keep the rest of us on our toes.”

He leaned forward, the smile fading as he basically stared through Alana. “There is no evidence I did this,” A statement of fact, not innocence. “And if you'd like to know how I  _ feel _ ... I feel like I don't want to be here anymore. So, if you're not detaining me, I'd like to be on my way now.”

Jack leaned forward on the other side of the glass, pressing a button on a console to speak into it. “Let him go.”

Bec quickly stated. “You're making a mistake, Jack.”

“I've got nothing to hold him on.”

“Peter Bernardone is psychologically disadvantaged. He's been manipulated. As his social worker, this man is in a position of trust, and he has betrayed that trust,” The empath looked back through the glass, watching as Ingram and Alana rose from their seat, preparing to leave. Huesyth stood between him and the older agent, watching the two in the room ahead as well.“I know what it's like to point at a killer and have no one listen.”

“You pointed in the wrong direction,” Jack proclaimed, turning to leave the room and the two men alone.

 

The dark country road passed by quickly, only the beams in front of them illuminated by the headlights of Huesyth’s car. 

The last time that Bec remembered being in the doctor’s car with him was the night of the opera. When they were still new but so entangled with each other and the little games they played together. He remembered the light-headed, heavy-limbed feeling of being pressed to Huesyth’s front in the afterglow of their lovemaking, the doctor’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist along with the skirt of the elegant gown that Huesyth bought just to debase it. A quiet, loving moment before the empath’s phone ringing popped the bubble. There were times after that but none of them stood out as much as that night.

Neither had spoken for an extended amount of time, Bec keeping his eyes fixed ahead on the road and not offering the doctor as much as a glance. He didn’t deserve it yet.

But he saw Huesyth peer over at him out of the corner of his eye. “You look like a man who has suffered an irrevocable loss.”

With a deep inhale, Bec explained. “I'm trying to prevent one.”

“Do you think if you save Peter Bernardone, you can save yourself?”

“Save myself from what, Dr. Cavalli?”

“From who you perceive me to be,” Huesyth looked back over at him, gazing at the side of Bec’s face before turning away.

“I'm afraid I need to be saved from who  _ you _ perceive  _ me _ to be.”

“Many troublesome behaviors strike when you are uncertain of yourself,” Huesyth explained. “Peter Bernardone lies in the same darkness that holds you.”

With a stiff shake of his head, Bec disagreed. “No... I'm alone in that darkness.”

“You're not alone, Bec. I'm standing right beside you.”

The empath didn’t reply nor did he disagree again. He didn’t know if this was Huesyth’s way of telling him that they’re both on equal footing or not but that didn’t keep him from being wary.

Later, the car pulled to a stop in front of the two buildings, the men exiting quickly with Bec in the lead. He entered the first building only to pause in his tracks and scan the room with all of the empty turned over cages. Not a single sound emanating from the room usually pulsing with life. It had been ransacked, the animals taken and Peter nowhere in sight.

He rushed past Huesyth to leave the building, running across the dark yard to the large animal barn and throwing open the door. Peter turned to look at the empath from where he was kneeling over the body of the same black horse Bec saw in the pin the day he met Peter. A pool of blood was spreading out across the hay covered stone from the wound across the horse’s abdomen that Peter had just finished stitching with messy, crimson hands. The belly of the horse horribly distended.

The sound of Huesyth appearing behind him gave Bec an eerie comfort much like the one he felt when he put himself into that silo in place of The Muralist. Bec wasn’t scared of Peter though, approaching him slowly.

“Peter... Is your social worker in that horse?”

“Yes,” Peter replied with a shaky nod, not looking up at empath as he came to a stop several feet away with Huesyth further back. “I used to have... Used to have a horrible fear of... Of hurting anything. But... He helped me get over that. Feels so abnormal.”

“An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior,” Huesyth commented but Bec ignored him.

“I think... think he deserves to die.”

The empath shook his head slightly. “But... But you didn't deserve to kill him, Peter,” Slowly, he partially crouched down by the skittish man’s side, a hand resting on his back and another on his forearm to help him up. “I want you to come with me.”

Peter hesitated but quickly relented and shakily stood again with the shorter man, allowing him to lead Peter out of the barn and into the darkness beyond, leaving Huesyth behind. They returned to the first building, Bec letting Peter move sadly through the wreckage of his shop, closing cage doors left open or righting knocked over crates. An attempt at fixing what was broken and stolen from him. He moved like a ghost through space he once felt safe in.

“What was done to you was cruelty for cruelty's sake,” Bec deadpanned.

Peter struggled with finding the words before finally spouting out softly. “I think I hate him.”

Bec wished he could be so sure, but what he does know is that what he feels wasn’t pure hatred. “I envy your hate. It makes it easier when you know how to feel.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “What... Makes what easier?”

“Killing them.”

“I... I didn't kill him…” Peter said, shaking his head. “I just wanted him to... To understand what it's like to... To suffocate and to... To... To experience the destiny that he created.”

It took a moment to register just what Peter was saying before Bec’s eyes grew wide.

 

The side of the horse bulged, fingers slipping through the gaps in the stitching just to rip them open. Guts spill onto the floor in a flow of blood before a hand reached through and gripped the ground.

Huesyth turned to find Clark Ingram, his body fouled with blood and slime courtesy of the horse, pulling himself out of the gut of the animal. He coughed and gasped with effort, spitting up whatever managed to force its way down his throat as he struggled to his feet.

Ingram stood straight and immediately spewed a mouthful of blood onto the floor again. He grunted in anger, bending to pick up a gore cover hammer from the ground and whipped around to find the doctor there, face bemused and impressed.

“Mr. Ingram,” Huesyth began, polite but clipped, and motioned to the dead horse with his head. “Might want to crawl back in there if you know what's good for you.”

But Ingram was breathing heavy, his hand tightening on the handle of the hammer, and Huesyth knew he wouldn’t listen. The doctor stepped aside, allowing Bec to move forward out of the shadows of the barn with his gun drawn on the bloody social worker.

“Officer...” Ingram breathed, his eyes widening at the sight of the weapon trained on him as he raised his arms shakily and dropped to his knees. The hammer slips from his grip, clattering to the floor. “I'm the victim here.”

The bloody man smiled up at the advancing empath, relieved. Bec sneered at him. “I'm not an officer. I'm Peter's friend.”

Immediately, the social worker’s face fell. “Peter's confused.”

“I'm not,” Bec declared,  _ not anymore _ . He motioned to the bloody hammer on the ground with the barrel of his revolver. “Pick up the hammer.”

“Bec,” Huesyth asserted.

A hand was removed from the gun as Bec stepped forward to hold it closer to Ingram’s face, the click of the gun cocking reverberating through the large space. “Pick it  _ up. _ ”

Huesyth moved closer to Bec’s side, a devil on his shoulder, whispering. “It won't feel the same, Bec. It won't feel like killing me.”

“It doesn't have to,” The empath whispered back, glaring into Ingram as he cowered.

Huesyth stared into the side of Bec’s face, observing and calculating. “You did the best anyone could do for Peter, but don't do this for him. If you're going to do this, Bec... You have to do it for yourself.”

Ingram begged. “P-Please don't.”

“You would be wise to remain silent, Mr. Ingram,” Huesyth advised, voice steely before looking back to the younger man to whisper. “Bec, this is not the reckoning you promised yourself.”

His finger was so tight on the trigger, at that point, it would’ve been easier to kill Ingram and worry about how he felt about it later. His head pounded and his chest was constricted. Why did it hurt so much?

Like the snap of a rubber band pulled too far, he finally pulled the trigger but instead of a bang, there was only a muffled click as Huesyth dropped his thumb between the hammer and the firing pin. It didn’t keep Ingram from crying out in fear, flinching awfully before breaking down into sobs.

Bec’s face didn’t change, giving away nothing as Huesyth’s other hand slid around his to pull the gun away. The doctor’s hand was warmer than he’d imagine based on the snow outside but he let go as soon as the weapon was out of the empath’s grip. The younger man knew he was being stared down by Huesyth but he still couldn’t bring himself to look up at the other man to gauge just what emotion Huesyth was feeling for him.

“With all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict you,” Huesyth whispered, moving ever closer to place a hand around the side of Bec’s neck, just over his hairline. He was trying to finally gain Bec’s attention again, their faces so close together that the empath could feel the doctor’s breath. “I can feed the caterpillar, and I can whisper through the chrysalis, but... What hatches, follows its own nature and is beyond me.”

Finally, Bec looked up into Huesyth’s eyes to see a smile crossing the taller man’s face. He was impressed with Bec. He was proud.

Despite any better judgment he might’ve had, Bec brought up his own hand to cover Huesyth’s. Suddenly, he rose up and pressed their lips together, no doubt catching the doctor off guard with the display of affection that he never would’ve expected. He wasn’t allowed to enjoy it for long though because as soon as Bec had brought them together, he was pulling away again. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his long outer coat as he took a step back.

“I’m calling Jack. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere,” Bec explained before turning away from the doctor and escaping out of the barn door again, leaving Huesyth standing alone with the social worker still sobbing on the floor behind him, blissfully unaware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	9. “Shiizakana”

_ “Which answer is it you want to hear, Bec?” Huesyth asked. _

_ Within the solitude of a snowbound forest, the empath and doctor found themselves face to face again but Huesyth was standing, forced tightly against the bark of a maple tree by the coiling body of the black snake. It’s shining body looped around his throat, pinning his head up against the tree, and then continues in multiple turns around his shirtless torso. The snake moved slow and steady across its muse but its face wasn’t in sight. _

_ “What's happening now and about to happen is an answer,” Bec told his prisoner. “I want an admission. I want you to admit what you are.” _

_ “Must I denounce myself as a monster while you still refuse to see the one growing inside you?” _

_ Not the answer that the empath wanted. Bec whistled, loud and shrill, and the body of the snake coiled tighter around the other man’s body with a creak that sounded akin to a rope. It tightened against Huesyth’s throat, just as it did when Bec was in the mindset of the Angel Maker, but not enough to restrict his speech. _

_ The doctor strained against the squeeze, attempting to catch the breath he was losing. “Why not appeal to my better nature?” _ _   
_ _ “I wasn't aware you had one,” Bec retorted, making slow deliberate steps closer to Huesyth. _

_ “No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them,” The doctor told. “By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true… I love you, Bec. I love you and I love our children.” The empath furrowed his brow at the restricted doctor. “Will you deny them their own father?” _

_ Bec had heard enough of this, his heart clenching in his chest at the admission he knew he’d never hear from the real Huesyth. He whistled again and the snake moved until its face finally came into Bec’s view, it’s empty eyes glittering and its tongue flicked, tasting the cold air. _

_ Veins began to bulge in Huesyth’s forehead, but he didn’t cry out in pain or protest. His eyes never wavered from Bec’s. _

_ “I promised you a reckoning,” The empath moved forward again, arriving at the tree and face to face with his tormentor but not Huesyth as he knew him. _

_ The wendigo stared back at him with onyx eyes. Unblinking. Soulless as the snake’s fangs bared in a threat. Its own large tail wrapped back around the tree in a coil. _

_ “Here it is.” _

_ The wendigo stared back at him, not frightened. Undeterred by the snake finally working in Bec’s favor. _

_“_ **Slithering slowly back from whence we came,** ” _The snake hissed into the wendigo’s face as it rose up._ “ **All soon to fall to our own greed.** ”

_ In a way that made Bec’s own stomach curl, the snake forced itself into the darkened figure’s mouth. Inch by inch its large body disappeared into the wendigo until the shape of it could be seen stewing inside of the larger creature's body. The tip of its tail slipped in last, past the wendigo’s fangs. _

_ Something cracked within the wendigo’s body and a stream of dark blood leaked out from between its blackened lips to run in shiny pools against its skin, its head slumping forward. _

_ A shape bulged in its stomach and the face of the snake appeared, stretching the skin of the wendigo’s torso until the perfect form of its face appeared, baring its fangs as if trying to break through the skin barrier separating it from Bec. _

Calmly, his eyes opened to stare into the middle distance of his own bedroom ceiling, painfully familiar. Damp with a thin layer of sweat, Bec unclenched the fist he had curled in the sheets at his side. There was no solace in Huesyth’s dream death, it only made him more nauseated with himself. The pain of the false admission of love that his traitorous brain concocted was still prevalent like an open wound in his heart. It hurt. Everything hurt so much.

 

Another night where the doctor found himself entertaining the older agent who seemed to be trying to spend more time with the taller man just as Bec was. As Huesyth entered the dining room with the two plates, Jack was staring into the flames of the fireplace. “Mmm, that smells wonderful.”

“Sacromonte omelet with liver and sweetbreads,” Huesyth explained as he placed one of the dishes onto Jack’s place setting and then the other one in the setting across from the agent. “Sacromonte was the gypsy hood of Granada. I visited Granada with my brother when I was a young man.”

The two men took their seats and Huesyth continued. “I fell in love with many things, in particular, this dish,” Huesyth explained, motioning to the plate with his fork. “I remember my time there so vividly. Like I frescoed the walls of my mind.”

“What I wouldn't give to forget a thing or two now,” Jack eyed the piece of omelet on his fork before taking a bite. “Mmm... My compliments to the gypsy hood of Granada.”

“Memory gives moments immortality, but forgetfulness promotes a healthy mind. It's good to forget. What are you trying to forget, Jack?”

“Doubt,” Jack replied simply, sipping his white wine. “I let doubt seep in.”

“About me?” Huesyth asked.

“About Bec.”

Almost at the mention of the empath’s name, a hand moved into sight to take Huesyth’s glass of wine. The doctor peered over out of the corner of his eye to see the imaginary figure of his former lover leaning back in the chair at the head of the table, a cheeky smile pulling at the fake Bec’s face as he sipped from the glass he stole. He quirked an eyebrow at the doctor, awaiting a response as Jack was.

Huesyth turned back to the older agent. “I can no longer discuss Bec's state of mind with you or anyone else without his consent. Bec's officially my patient. He employs me now, not the FBI.”

“Well let’s hope your therapy works.”

“Therapy only works when we have a genuine desire to know ourselves as we are, not as we would like to be.”

The mind Bec put the glass back where he found it in time for Huesyth pick it up next, holding it out to Jack so that they could clink their glasses together in a toast.

“ **_He knows who he is, Huesyth,_ ** ” The doctor peered over to the figment again as he spoke calmly. “ **_And he knows who you are._ ** ”

 

Again he didn’t match eyes with the doctor, not out of embarrassment but because his brain was working just as fast as it usually did. Going over the events in Peter’s barn over and over again and wondering when exactly he turned down the path that made him think that murdering a man would be easier. That painting the barn floor with a blend of Ingram’s blood along with the horse’s seemed more justifiable than letting him live in the same world as Peter. He still wanted justice.

But then, it seemed, he had to go and complicate his life even further after Huesyth wrapped a hand around his and pull the gun from his grip. The empath just had to go and kiss the man he tried to kill, didn’t he?

In proper Reyes fashion, he certainly didn’t face Huesyth after the fact, immediately leaving the crime scene after he wasn’t needed anymore without looking Huesyth in the eye. Stubbornness and pettiness were the only two things that seemed to be the most prevalent in this family but it seemed to be leading him off the rails.

That kiss should never have happened. The flirty exterior was all supposed to be for show because he knew that Huesyth was hungry for the confidence that this new version of Bec exudes. But it wasn’t the real him, right?

“Do you have any regrets?” Bec asked the doctor.

“With every choice lies the possibility of regret,” Huesyth answered cryptically. “However, if I choose not to do something, it's usually for a good reason.”

_ But he chose you _ , a voice whispered in the empath’s ear and for once it held no resemblance to the snake.  _ He chose you once and he’s choosing you again. _

“I'm…” Bec hesitated, brow furrowing at the floor. “Riddled with regrets.”

“A life without regret would be no life at all.”

In the shadow of the office, Bec seemed troubled but his mindset was narrowing. “I regret what I did in the stable.”

“Then, you were lucky I was there.”

It brought the empath’s attention back to Huesyth’s face, the hard lines in his furrowed expression softening. “Oh, no, no, no. Being lucky isn't the same as making a mistake. The mistake was allowing you to stop me.”

Huesyth’s look offered nothing as to how that admission made him feel and that irked something in Bec. “So, it's not pulling the trigger that you regret... it's not pulling it effectively.”

“That would be more accurate,” Bec agreed, not breaking the eye contact he was holding with the taller man.

“You must adapt your behavior to avoid feeling the same way again, Bec.”

He’ll never feel as scared as he did when he killed Hobbs again, the tremors will pass and the blood washes off. His mind wasn’t haunted by his actions anymore, it was haunted by Huesyth’s.

“Adapt. Evolve. Become,” His lips worked smoothly around each of the words and he whispered them out with a darkened edge.

“Yes,” Interest thoroughly piqued, Huesyth’s eyebrow quirked at the empath. “I want you to close your eyes. Imagine a version of events you wouldn't have regretted.”

Bec didn’t understand why he followed the orders so obediently, Huesyth could’ve easily attacked him but something at the back of the empath’s skull was telling him that for now, he was safe from harm. Wishful thinking but he listened despite it and when he opened his eyes again _ , he was staring down the barrel of his gun again. _

_ Clark Ingram, coated in horse blood and cowering on his knees before the empath, was helplessly holding his hands out as if they would stop a bullet. The bullet rotated in the chamber as Bec’s finger goes to the trigger and without a second thought, he pulled the trigger. _

_ Ingram’s head snapped back, blood and brain matter spraying behind him as the bullet exited his skull and his body flopped lifelessly onto the ground. _

Bec opened his eyes, Huesyth tipped his head slightly, curiously. The doctor whispered. “What did you see?”

“A missed opportunity…” Bec began. “To feel... like I felt when I killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. To feel like... like I felt when I thought I'd killed you.”

Huesyth asked softly. “And what does that feel like?”

“I felt... a quiet sense... of... power.”

A brief, silent moment ticked by between them as the doctor studied the empath in front of him and Bec counted his quickly quickening heartbeats until Huesyth finally responded. “Good. Remember that feeling.”

Almost relieved by the acceptance, the younger man let out a soft breath that he didn’t know he was holding. Deep within him, Bec felt that dark little tug that pulled him towards the dark parts of Huesyth. But Bec wanted to know how far he could push and get away with it. “Do you have this feeling a lot, Dr. Cavalli?”

He saw Huesyth’s eyes widen minutely before he corrected it. “We all have events in our lives that provide us with a sense of superiority that we wish to recreate over and over until that superiority is all you are.”

“Oh, but it isn’t just a simple event from the past to you, is it?” Bec clipped back. “In your life, it really is a recurring activity. Frequent and riveting. No wonder you walk among us like you’re so much better.”

Huesyth unfolded his legs as he addressed the empath’s accusations, mocking offense. “I don’t think we all share the same psychotic tendencies as you, Bec.”

The empath raised a questioning eyebrow at the taller man. “Psychotic tendencies? Well you would know all about those, wouldn’t you, Doctor?”

Ever worried about his human appearances, Huesyth began a spiel in an attempt to defend himself but Bec had long since zoned out. Slowly rising from his seat, Bec crossed the distance between them as calmly as a predator moving through the woods and effectively silenced the doctor when he lowered himself across the expanse of Huesyth’s lap. Almost without noticing, Huesyth placed his hands on each of Bec’s hips as the empath knees were planted on either side of his thighs. He looked up at Bec’s face, eyes going momentarily wide at yet another display of attraction that he didn’t expect to ever have again.

Scanning over the doctor’s reactions as he moved carefully, Bec rested his hands on either side of Huesyth’s face, an affection he knew the taller man didn’t deserve but he noticed the way that Huesyth couldn’t help but push into the hold slightly. His body was still stiff though, expecting an attack that would never actually come.

“Did you miss me while I was away?” Bec wondered.

He acted as if he was just away on a business trip and not taking an extended vacation in an asylum for the criminally insane. Playing coy to draw Huesyth back into a state of comfort but it was apparently harder than he expected.

Once the surprise dissipated, a smirk pulled at Huesyth’s lips and his hands moved down from Bec’s hips to his thighs. “I did, Bec. Your presence here is one that is hard to replace.”

“Oh, well I’m sure I was far less missed  _ here _ ,” Bec reiterated, motioning around the office with a careless hand. “Your bed, on the other hand, must be feeling a painful emptiness in my absence. I honestly can’t imagine you’ve been with anyone else after me considering how we ended.”

The younger man rocked forward, pressing their hips more firmly together and causing Huesyth to adjust his legs. But he was still holding onto to that sliver of professionality that pissed Bec off the most despite their positions. “I have no idea what you mean, Bec.”

Bec’s face dropped, brow furrowing slightly until he noticed that this could have easily been misconstrued as Bec wearing a wire while trying to seduce a confession out of the doctor. The thought only half wrong really but Bec smirked at Huesyth’s carefulness. The plan rearranged in his head at the same time his hands went to the hem of his gray sweater and smoothly pulled it up and over to toss the garment onto the floor. Then his careful fingers worked at the buttons of his dress shirt until it was left open against his chest but no further.

“I’m not wearing a wire, Doctor,” Bec assured as he leaned back into Huesyth, his lips close to the doctor’s. “It’s just us here.”

The empath watched as Huesyth’s eyes followed from the younger man’s mouth down to the bared skin of his chest and then back up.

“Can I kiss you, Dr. Cavalli?”

With a brief pause to gather his thoughts, Huesyth answered softly. “Yes you can, Bec.”

Moving slowly as if not to disturb the intimate, delicate bubble they found themselves in, Bec pressed forward to press their lips together. He leaned into Huesyth’s solid warmth and locked his arms around the taller man’s neck, drawing his head in with a boldness that surprised even himself.

For a moment, he felt Huesyth resist, his muscles stiffening, and Bec nearly panicked. Then Huesyth made a sound close to a growl against Bec’s lips, pulling the smaller man closer to him by his hips as he tipped his head to the side in an attempt to deepen the kiss. A sigh was pulled from the empath’s mouth at the reciprocation, his mouth open and eager to the doctor’s tongue and teeth, his whole body thrumming. His entire being felt like a live wire, every little touch sent excited sparks through his body but when Huesyth’s hands worked to pull his shirttail out of where it was tucked tightly into the waistband of his pants, Bec finally had to place a halting hand on his chest.

That hand pressed Huesyth back into his chair, stalling the taller man’s exploring hands in their search for more skin to touch. But Bec didn’t let Huesyth question his hesitance, he planted a silencing kiss to the doctor’s lips and slowly worked his way down. Hot opened mouth kisses that left a trail of warmth down the revealed column of Huesyth’s neck above the collar of his dress shirt.

It wasn’t long before Huesyth was sitting back in his chair again and Bec was on his knees between the doctor’s spread thighs. The fly of Huesyth’s slacks was undone, and big, dark eyes looked up at the taller man as though he was a god. His plush lips mouthed over the bulge forming under the thin layer of Huesyth’s underwear.

“You’re beautiful, Bec,” Huesyth breathed, one of his hands came down to cup the smaller man’s head. The dark curls of Bec’s hair were coiling around his fingertips. “How could I have ever let your mind take you hostage? We never should’ve went back after Tobias’s attacks on us. I should have just kept you in my bed forever.”

“But that wouldn’t have been what you wanted,” The shorter man kept his eyes on Huesyth’s as he tugged at the taller man’s already open shirt, leaning forward to mouth at the doctor’s stomach. The faint scratch of stubble had Huesyth’s muscles jumping. “It was never that simple.”

Bec pulled back slightly, enough to grasp the hand in his hair and pull it down so that he could run his lips across it. He whispered softly. “Please take me back.”

The desperate tinge in Bec’s begging tone partnered with his wide, imploring eyes was a killer combination, one that he knew Huesyth was weak for. So many were weak for the little, broken empath with the kicked puppy stare.

But Huesyth removed his hand from Bec’s grasp just to wind it back into the empath’s curls, pulling Bec’s head back which the smaller man followed obligingly. “You want to come back to me?”

“You know that I do.”

Huesyth studied him for a moment. For some reason, Bec had the foolishly arrogant mindset that he knew the doctor would believe him. He had no reason to believe that Huesyth missed him as much as Bec missed Huesyth but that didn’t stop him. It seemed to pay off when a small smile quirked the corner of the taller man’s lips.

“You do beg so prettily, Bec,” The doctor purred. “And you’ve certainly gained some confidence in yourself to use it against me.”

Bec’s throat was bared and Huesyth could see how his Adam's apple bobbed with a heavy swallow, probably wishing to sink his teeth into it. “Dr. Cavalli… I-”

Huesyth hushed hum, loosening the hold he had on Bec’s hair and leaning forward to pet the empath’s face. “Your wish is my command, my dear.”

Something melted in the smaller man and he kissed the inside of Huesyth’s palm. “Thank you,” Huesyth seemed to enjoy Bec’s ‘thanks’ as much as his ‘please’s and the shorter man pushed him gently back into his seat. “Where was I?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow and Bec smiled coyly at him, reaching back to where Huesyth’s cock had briefly been abandoned, a hard line in his exposed underwear.

 

Stepping out of the warmth of Huesyth’s office and into the chill night air, Bec kept his head down, deep in thought. He wondered if he was moving his chess piece in the right direction by starting their relationship up again. If by allowing Huesyth that power over him, he could manipulate the manipulator. It’s a game Bec had never played before and he wasn’t sure of the rules.

He was positive though, that the sex and the affection would be considered a low blow on his part.

“I tend to walk out of this building in a very similar state,” A voice said. Bec looked up from his daydreaming to see a young woman approaching him, coming to a standstill in front of him. She was dressed elegantly, someone he would’ve seen at the opera with Huesyth. “You must be a patient of Dr. Cavalli's.”

“I’m sorry?” Bec questioned, waiting for the inevitable question.

“You look familiar,” The woman stated. “I either know you or I know of you.”

“I'm the guy who  _ didn't _ kill all those people.”

With his mind occupied with more important thoughts, Bec moved to leave the woman on the sidewalk considering who she had just met.

 

“We all have a gauge for humanity that twitches when we see other people. Tell me, Margot, what twitches when you see your brother?”

Margot let out a soft breath through her nose and she shifted slightly in her seat. He could just barely see her lip quirk in disgust. “Not my gauge for humanity.”

“You don't recognize in your brother basic human traits,” Huesyth stated, crossing his legs. “You dehumanize him as much as he dehumanizes you.”

“He dehumanizes everyone. To him, we’re all just pigs living in his pin waiting for him to slaughter us,” Margot explained but she offered a slight shrug. “At least, I'll never be the worst person I know.”

“He won’t slaughter us if he doesn’t need the meat.”

“Then what’s he been doing to me all these years?” Margot questioned, narrowing her eyes at the doctor. “Fattening me up? Grooming me for the slaughter that may never come?”

Huesyth offered a small smile. “The tendency to see others as less human than ourselves is universal.”

“My brother _ is _ less human,” Margot reminded.

“Yes he is and you are less human for it.”

A simple truth. She didn’t take any immediate offense but poked back. “Did you just dehumanize me?”

“Psychiatrists who dehumanize patients are more comfortable with painful-but-effective treatments,” Huesyth explained.

“I met a patient of yours,” Margot suddenly proclaimed. “Bec Reyes. I wonder what sort of painful-but-effective treatment you prescribed him?”

The question hung in the air between them before Huesyth asked. “What do you imagine?”

“You're very supportive of me killing my brother. And I appreciate that support, I really do. But I can only imagine what you'd be supportive of Bec Reyes doing. What kind of psychiatrist are you?”

He knew the answer that she wanted, just as he knew the answers that Bec wanted but didn’t give. “You already had my reputation and bona fides verified. You know what kind of psychiatrist I am.”

She looked him up and down. “I'm beginning to.”

 

Sunlight glistened off the frozen blood, warming its surface enough until a bead of blood dripped off the end of the icicle. The trucker’s dead body was bloody and sprawled on his back across the cab roof, his head hanging over its edge with his throat ripped open. His innards were thrown out in a bloody, frozen mess around him.

“Since when the FBI get involved in animal attacks, Jack?” Bec questioned as he observed the two scientists snapping photos of the scene.

The older agent by his side, with Huesyth on the other side of him, told. “When there's somebody holding the leash of whatever it is that's doing the killing.”

“Esophagus is destroyed,” Brian shouted down to the trio from the cab roof. “The bite almost severed his head!”

“Whatever it was, it's not afraid of humans. Not anymore,” Jack commented.

Jimmy lowered his camera, unlike Brian he was still on the ground. “So I'm thinking a bear or a wolf.”

But Bec eyed the icicle of a body, unconvinced. “Wolves or bears don't eat where they kill. It would’ve dragged him off.”

“There's no eating here. We're gonna find everything,” Brian explained from above, gesturing to the empty crevice and torn flesh of the trucker’s stomach. “The viscera's exposed, the belly's laid bare, but there's no sign of rutting or gnawing, Jack.”

Huesyth finally added. “A rabid animal attacks victims at random and doesn't eat any part of them.”

“Found the same wound patterns on a series of livestock mutilations in the area. Evisceration, dismemberment, yet everything accounted for,” Jimmy divulged to the trio.

Bec furrowed his brow at the body again. “Livestock mutilations... that was practice?”

“He's going to kill again,” Jack warned. “He's gonna get better at it.”

“And he's urbanizing his animal, moving it closer to the city…” Bec stepped to the side to turn and look over Jack’s shoulder to Huesyth. “Adapting it for bigger prey.”

“And he's not denying its natural instincts, he's evolving them.”

Jack studied the exchange between the two before adding. “It's a bloodsport.”

 

He slid the photos of the trucker’s crime scene in front of the other man, the sunny interior of the locked inpatient psychiatric ward shining light across the pictures.

“A wolf or a bear?” Bec asked. He looked over at Peter, dressed in a jumpsuit that resembled the one that Bec used to wear except it was an off-white color. Bec glanced down to see a rat poking its head out from the sleeve of the skittish man’s jumpsuit and couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“This is K-Kevin,” Peter introduced. “Uh, try not to stare. They'll... Or they'll take him away from me.”

“Oh, sorry,” Bec apologized, quickly turning his head away.

“It's okay,” Peter mumbled, tucking the rat away more safely before reviewing the pictures. He looked away before motioning to two different photos. “Bear. Wolf.”

The empath furrowed his brow in confusion. “Do bears and wolves hunt together?”

“Um, I mean, you could train... train a bear to be a wolf, or a wolf to be a bear. Train, train them long enough, and they will hunt together, feed together,” Peter explained. Kevin the rat snuck his way out of the back of Peter’s jumpsuit, crawling across the arm of the chair he was in before Peter swiped him up again and tucked him away. “Hmm... Okay. En-enough time, there's- there's a great deal I could train even you to do, Bec.”

“Hmm,” The empath considered that a moment as he collected the photos. “That kind of friendship can keep you on your toes.”

Peter chuckled gently, scratching over Kevin’s back when he poked out of his sleeve again. “Animals, they, they do have... they have friendships just-just like us. We're the same.”

Bec tried to see it from Peter’s point of view and found it must be so much easier to just be an animal, a slave to instincts instead of emotions. “Yeah, I'll try to remember that.”

“Please, don't-don't blame-blame the animals. No. Don't.” Peter begged softly. “Man is the only creature that kills to... kill.”

 

The following day, a once roaring bonfire was reduced to ash. Around the black smudge it left, agents worked to process the scene of the carnage. Dark red blood was nearly painted across the surrounding snow in the immediate area. Another crime scene that was given to them by the animalistic murderer.

Bec watched as they worked, Jack a few paces behind him, before taking a deep breath and exhaling. Eyes sliding shut, the pendulum swung in the dark of his mind.

Slowly, the scene cleared of agents and bloodshed and strewn about body parts. The bonfire roars to life again as the world descended into darkness again.

_ The young couple walked lovingly towards the fire, wrapped around each other not just to fight off the cold of the night. Watching through the vine-like, dead branches of the trees, the killer observed as they stopped at the glow of the fire, cuddled up. _

_ Something moved in the shadows by the killer’s side and he turned to see a wolf, larger than any real wolf would be and with a plumage of feathers across its back, its fur was such a deep black that it almost blended into the world around it. It had dark antlers, close to its head as if to not get in its way. _

_ A deep, rumbling growl rolled passed its curled back lips, its fangs were glittering white and dripping with saliva. Together, the killer and his wolf watched the couple on the frozen, snow-covered beach. _

_ Quietly, the killer commanded without taking his eyes off the couple. “Kill.” _

_ The wolf charged across the beach, galloping towards the couple at top speed. It hit the man hard, using the dagger-like points of its short antlers to slash across the man’s torso, violently driving him into the ground with a vicious pounce. Slashing and biting and tearing. _

_ The woman fell back, hitting the snowy ground as the animal turned on her. It cut off her scream when it drove its teeth into her throat. But the monster reared up, no longer covered in fur or on four legs, but was now human. Painfully, unfairly, human but soaked in the blood of its prey. The antlers protruding from his head dripped with red as if they were just dug into the woman’s throat. _

_ With his eyes blackened, the killer threw his head back and screamed into the night, louder than either of his victims. _

His eyes opened and Bec was staring at the woman’s body again, frozen in terror with blood dried into her white coat. Night had become day again.

“It isn’t an animal,” Bec stated clearly to the older agent. “It's a man who wants to be an animal.”

Jack couldn’t help but give a frustrated sigh as he looked at the body. It seemed as time went on the killers just kept getting weirder and weirder. “Does he believe he's an animal?”

“It's not what he believes he is. It's what he imagines he is.”

“Well, what does he want?” Jack asked.

“He wants to maul,” Bec explained as he turned to the older agent. “There’s nothing personal about this. He doesn't  _ need _ to know them. They're just... meat to him. Prey.”

“This kind of psychosis doesn't just slip through the system. Somewhere someone would have noticed something like this.”

“If it is psychosis, he got inside of it somehow,” Bec explained. “Tamed it, made a suit out of it. He's an engineer... or he understands engineering. He knows how to build. He _ built _ his beast. He is a student of predators.”

 

“‘No beast is more savage than man when possessed with power answerable to his own rage,’” Huesyth quoted.

Though stubborn, Bec would admit any day that sitting across Huesyth’s lap as they sat back in his desk chair, legs crossed delicately, was far more comfortable than running around in the cold of the outside world in search of killers.

“It isn’t rage,” Bec explained. “Rage is an emotional response to being provoked. This is something else.”

“What is it?” Huesyth asked.

“Instinct,” Bec replied. “It’s just the way he thinks.”   


“The way any animal thinks depends on the limitations of mind and body,” Huesyth stated as he ran a slow hand down Bec’s leg. “If we learn our limitations too soon, we would never learn our power.”

The empath raised an eyebrow at the other man before sliding his legs off his lap and standing again, stepping around to the other side of the desk despite Huesyth’s sad sigh. “His victims are torn apart. I'd say he learned his power.”

“He’s learned it and he’s claimed it. Can you imagine tearing someone apart?” Huesyth stood as well, following in Bec’s footsteps around the desk. “Or would you prefer to use a gun?”

The empath shrugged slightly. “Guns lack the same intimacy.”

“You set an event in motion with a gun. You don't complete it. You fantasized about killing me with your hands. Wouldn't that be more satisfying than pulling a trigger?”

He didn’t know what Huesyth was getting at, it seemed like he wanted Bec to kill him or at least try again to see what he’d do. But Bec answered. “Yes.”

“When you sent that man to kill me, were you imagining killing me yourself? Living vicariously through him as if... your hands tightened the noose around my neck? Or were you simply hiding?”

Now he was being put on the spot and Bec raised an eyebrow at him. “I wasn't hiding from anything the first time I tried to kill you.”

“You  _ were _ hiding... behind the gun,” Huesyth pressed and though Bec turned away from him he continued. “You must allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts, Bec.”

The empath let himself release a quiet scoff, looking back to the taller man with a cocked eyebrow. “And you need to allow yourself to be seen. It mustn’t feel very good to  _ hide _ your instincts.”

 

Confusion rattled Huesyth’s brain as he took the rickety elevator up to his brother’s apartment. For once in his life, he felt as if he had no idea where exactly he stood in his cat and mouse mind games. The empath that haunted not only his mind but his life as well was beginning to creep his way back into Huesyth’s heart and that was dangerous. He knew it was. But he felt a strange pull to the darkness residing in the younger man. Years had gone by since he ever felt like he  _ wanted  _ to have someone else by his side. The last relationship he ever felt could go anywhere ended abruptly, brutally, and is now lying in pieces under the concrete base of a parking structure in London.

Back then, Delmar had a great time saying his ‘I told you so’s as they escaped the city. He never cared for London all that much anyway. Now, however, Huesyth was sure Delmar would be far less willing to run away again if the doctor’s careful dance with Bec ended the same bloody way.

The elevator lurched to a stop, metal doors creaking open to allow Huesyth to step out onto Delmar’s floor. He walked in swift strides down the hallway before he came to the familiar door under the large water stain on the hallway ceiling. The doctor knocked loudly on the thin wood encase his brother was passed out from clubbing again. A moment of quiet passed before he heard quick, stumbling footsteps work their way to the door and wrench it open. His older brother stood on the other side, shirtless with his hair mused as if he had just woken up despite it being past noon. The bruises and cuts on his face were healing nicely, only some light discoloration of his skin remained.

A smile that showed his canines broke across the shorter man’s face as he recognized his brother. “Hey, Huey. What’s up?”

“I need to speak with you,” Huesyth stated.

Delmar cocked his head to the side, eyes flicking back into the apartment briefly before returning to Huesyth. “Right now?”

“Yes. Right now.”

Hesitating, Delmar let Huesyth slowly push the door open to step inside. Taking a look around the space, Huesyth didn’t understand his brother’s reluctance. The cramped home seemed just as messy and dusty as it always was when the doctor came over. Nothing really out of place until another figure stepped out of the doorway to the kitchen.

“Del, who’s at the door-” The man’s voice cut off as his eyes landed on Huesyth, but it wasn’t a look you’d give a stranger.

The man Huesyth had known as his former patient who disappeared after two sessions, ‘Harris Thomas’, was standing in the doorway, dressed in lounge clothes that Huesyth recognized as Delmar’s with his blonde hair damp from a shower.

“Huesyth, this is Amaund. The boyfriend I was telling you about,” Delmar introduced from behind him, stepping around him to toss a shirt from the couch in the general direction of the bedroom. Everything seemed to click into place in Huesyth’s head at the mention of the name. “Amaund, this is Huesyth. The little brother I was telling you about.”

Despite himself, a smirk pulled at Huesyth’s face as he stepped forward, offering a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you,  _ Amaund _ .”

The blonde was visibly shaken, brow furrowing and body tense as if ready to fight off an attack or run away from a predator, but he grasped the hand to give it a friendly shake.

“We can go for coffee if you want, Huey,” Delmar offered, unaware of the two men glowering at each other.

“That would be great,” Huesyth responded flatly without breaking eye contact with Amaund, stepping back from him.

“Okay, gimme a minute to get dressed,” Delmar said, finally looking over at the two as they finally broke away from their staring match. “You two get to know each other or something.”

But before entering the bedroom to change, Delmar clapped a hand on Huesyth’s shoulder to draw his attention away from the other man, whispering so that only the brothers could hear. “You do anything to him or try to scare him off, I’ll kick your ass. Understand?”

Huesyth gave a small, innocent smile. “Of course, Delmar.”

The shorter man nodded, patted his brother’s shoulder and left the room, the thin door closing loudly behind him before the apartment settled into a tense, uncomfortable silence. Or really it was more uncomfortable for the blonde man whose hope seemed to deflate from his body as soon as Delmar left his line of sight.

But oddly enough, it was Amaund who broke the silence first. “So you’re Huesyth, huh? Delmar’s told me you guys are super close.”

An attempt at casualty or maybe a way to seem less guilty. He was holding on to the hope that Huesyth hadn’t connected the dots just yet.

But Huesyth had no intentions of ever playing that game with Amaund. “Is that all he’s told you?”

The blonde man’s face dropped at the accusation and Huesyth cocked his head slightly. “Listen, I don’t know who you think I am-”

“Amaund is such a familiar name,” Huesyth mentioned suddenly, feigning ignorance. “You wouldn’t happen to be Amaund Reyes? The older half-brother of Bec Reyes?”

Amaund seemed to choke on his own breath and Huesyth offered an unimpressed smile. “I have no idea how you and Bec managed to find my brother but whatever ploy you have with him ends when we walk out that door in a few minutes.”

“He didn’t say anything to me,” Amaund snapped. “It wasn’t Delmar and it wasn’t Bec. It was  _ me _ . If you want to punish anyone then punish me.”

Huesyth stared questioningly at the other man, unconvinced. “You will get your punishment but until then I want one thing from you.”

Amaund furrowed his brow again. “What?”

The doctor stepped forward, voice going low and dangerous. “Disappear from Delmar’s life. Walk out that door and never come back. Don’t try to contact him again or try to tell him that the whole reason you slept with him was that you were trying to get information on me for your brother,” Amaund’s face was slowly growing more and more horrified until Huesyth hissed harshly. “If I even catch your scent again, I will saw off Bec’s head and leave it on your sister’s doorstep.”

A flash of fear crossed the other man’s face but Huesyth stepped back from the other man at the same time that the bedroom door opened again and Delmar stepped out, adjusting his jacket on his shoulders.

“Sorry to run off on you, babe,” Delmar apologized, crossing the room to press a gentle kiss to Amaund’s lips. “Family issues, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know how it is. Go be with your brother.”

“I’ll call you later, okay?” Delmar told.

Amaund nodded stiffly. “Okay.”

Delmar must’ve noticed, giving the taller man an odd look before turning back to his brother to head to the door. “Come on, Hue.”

They left the apartment, Huesyth not even looking back to the blonde who seemed like he was about to faint in the kitchen doorway. As soon as the brothers stepped into the elevator, Delmar demanded without turning his eyes away from the metal doors. “What did you say to him?”

Huesyth raised an eyebrow at the side of the smaller man’s head. “We were having a friendly conversation, Delmar. Nothing else.”

“He looked tense as all hell. He wasn’t like that until you walked in.”

“Maybe he was just nervous to meet me so suddenly.”

Delmar scoffed softly, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Please stay out of my love life. This is why I didn’t want you to meet him yet.”

“I didn’t know he was there,” Huesyth reminded. “I needed to speak with you.”

“Yeah and why exactly did you need to talk right away?”

Huesyth went quiet, doing just as Delmar was doing and not looking his brother in the eye. “It seems I’m having…  _ issues _ in my romantic endeavors as well.”

The taller of the pair didn’t have to even look at his brother to know that Delmar was raising an eyebrow up at him in surprise.

“You... son of a bitch,  _ finally _ someone other than me makes a mistake,” Delmar laughed boisterously and Huesyth rolled his eyes, he loved his brother far too dearly despite his bubbly personality. “So what’s going on with you? One of your sugar baby boyfriends screw you out of a Rolex?”

Huesyth paused for a moment. Walking into the apartment building, the doctor was confused, his brain was a blur where he wanted to be with Bec but also didn’t know if the empath would betray him.

But the minute his eyes landed on Amaund, Huesyth had made up his mind as to just how deceitful his clever little empath could be. He was dangerous. He was always dangerous and Huesyth chose to ignore that.

“Well, Delmar, I believe I have a fairly good idea how to fix it.”

 

He moved through the halls almost as if he owned the place, finding the two remaining scientists of the B.A.U. standing behind a table of animal skulls within one of the room. Jack sat before them, listening to them speak.

“What could?” Jack asked.

Jimmy answered. “Pull-ratchets and pneumatics, maybe.”

“Pretty sophisticated ingenuity for any kind of animal, man or beast.”

Huesyth stepped into the room. “Animals are far more like humans than we ever realized. And humans are far more like animals. One thin barrier between us.”

“And for some, that barrier is way too thin,” Jack sighed as he stood from his chair, sticking a hand out for Huesyth to shake. “Hello, Dr. Cavalli. How does something like this present?”

Huesyth looked over the skulls on display. “Someone affected by this kind of species dysphoria typically has other conditions. Mood disorders, clinical depression, schizophrenia.”

“Typically?” Jack questioned.

“They may not present at all. Your killer could have built a bridge between who he appears to be and what he now knows he's become.”

“He didn't build a bridge, Doctor,” Jack sighed. “He built a suit.”

“What he seeks is transformation.”

Jack looked up at the doctor. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

Huesyth hesitated before guiding Jack a few feet away for privacy. “This threatens to be a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality, so I will tread carefully.”

“You've seen something like this,” The older agent stated surely, not even a question.

“Years ago, I treated a patient who fits the profile. A teenage boy who suffered from what I would describe as an identity disorder.”

Nodding in understanding, Jack questioned. “This boy fancied himself a beast?”

“During our therapy, he reported a moment of clarity,” Huesyth recounted clearly. “He understood, in that moment, he was an animal born in the body of a man. He kept a solitary life. He would hide and behave in ways resembling animal behavior.”

“He was delusional.”

But Huesyth denied. “Not necessarily. He didn't believe metamorphosis could physically take place, but that wouldn't stop him from trying to achieve it.”

“He'd be a grown man now?” Jack asked.

Huesyth nodded. “And as he grew in wisdom and confidence, he would no longer feel he had to meet his needs in hiding.”

Jack’s brow furrowed as his mind began to work. “What are his needs, Dr. Cavalli?”

“Savagery.”

 

**MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY**

The skeleton of a tyrannosaurus loomed tall over the pair of them as Jack observed the rack of skulls of different predators. As they were waiting, a tall, dark-haired man approached from the back room. His eyes were fixed ahead, calm, reserved, dead-eyed.

“Ah, Randall Tier? Special Agent Jack Crawford with the FBI. This is Bec Reyes,” The older agent introduced before turning to gesture to a skeleton of a Sabertooth cat that was staring sightlessly back at the empath. “Uh... did you... put all that together?”

“Yes, I did,” Randall confirmed.

“Nice work,” Jack complimented, pointing to one of the heads on the rack of skulls. “What is that?”

“That is a cave bear.”

Jack nodded good-naturedly. “You put together a lot of cave bears, do you?”

“Yeah. I put them together, take them apart, put them back together again.”

“You understand their mechanics and how they're engineered?” Jack questioned.

“We understand a lot about cave bears,” Randall assured. “Their fossils have been found in the tens of thousands, all over southern Europe. Very common.”

It sounded like an excuse and Bec knew Jack was seeing through it as well. “The reason I ask is that a... a cave bear skull was used recently as a murder weapon.”

“Prehistoric jaws and claws are designed to do what they do best.”

The empath stared at the glint coming off of the prehistoric cat’s teeth before speaking up. “The victims were torn apart. Used the right tool for the job.”

Randall’s attention was drawn to the shorter man. “Well, look inside the skull and you'll find what the job is.”

“You have a history of trouble with things inside your head. Isn't that right, Mr. Tier?”

Randall noticeably winced, feeling the slight. “Is that what this is about? Do you think I killed someone with a fossil? I  _ had  _ an identity disorder. The doctors told me the internal map of my body didn't match reality. Do you know what it's like when the skin you're wearing doesn't fit?”

“I can imagine,” Bec quipped.

“I know who I am now. And I'm doing much better. I'm socializing. I take my medication. I'm employed. And I work very hard. And I'm proof that mental illness is treatable.”

Though Bec found legitimacy in Randall’s reply, he also found suspicion.

 

Night descended on his home by the time he returned from questioning Randall Tier with Jack. Most of the snakes were already asleep in their rock homes and he was ready to pass out as well before lights passed by his windows, momentarily brightening in his living room and blinding him.

For a moment, his heart dropped. He assumed it was Huesyth again and feared that the doctor was finally coming to kill him. They were in the middle of nowhere. It would be easy to get away with it. But he took a deep breath, calmed his soul and stepped out onto his porch to be greeted by someone he certainly didn’t expect to see.

Out of the luxury car parked in his driveway stepped, not the figure of the 6’2” doctor he’d been fearing but instead a woman. The same elegant young woman that had spoken to him outside of Huesyth’s office, now dressed in slacks and a jacket to keep the chill away.

“Hi,” She greeted as she approached, climbing the porch steps. “I don't know if you remember me, but I met you outside of Dr. Cavalli's office.”

“I remember it,” Bec explained. “How did you find me?”

She brushed her hair out of her face when the wind blew it. “Well, as it turns out, you are famous.”

The empath nodded in understanding. “You're not exactly anonymous yourself, Margot.”

At that, she stepped forward again, closer to him as she spoke. “Did you, uh, sneak a peek inside Dr. Cavalli's calendar?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I did.”

A shiver wracked her body. “It's cold. Do you have any whiskey?”

Despite his hesitations, he let her inside. She stripped her jacket and sat in one of his armchairs as he poured her a drink of the whiskey he couldn’t have despite really needing to get drunk most of the time.

“Not going to drink with me?” Margot questioned with a quirked brow as he removed only one glass from the cabinet.

“Since my stay in Baltimore’s State Hospital, I’ve been put on medication that doesn’t react well to alcohol,” Bec lied seamlessly as he poured the drink, handing the glass over to her as he asked. “What is the heir to the Verger Meat Packing dynasty doing at my door?”

“Oh, my brother is the heir, not me. I have the wrong parts and the wrong proclivity for parts.”

There was something refreshing about her frankness, something likable that made Bec relax. He nodded and sat in the chair across from her. “You didn't answer my question.”

“I came for a character reference,” Margot stated. “Patient to patient. What do you think of Dr. Cavalli's therapy?”

Well that was certainly a broad and nasty can of worms that she wanted to open. He was sure he could go on for hours about what he thought of Huesyth but he decided to keep this as abstract as possible, a way to save his own skin down the line if she decided to report him. “It depends what you're in therapy for.”

“Oh, I'm in therapy for all kinds of reasons,” Margot claimed with a hint of sarcasm, swirling the golden liquid in her glass. “The Vergers slaughter 86,000 cattle a day and 36,000 pigs, depending on the season, but that's just the public carnage.”

Bec could tell there was something darker hiding between her words. A secret she hid close to her chest. “What’s your private carnage?”

She paused only momentarily and didn’t break eye contact when she answered. “I tried to kill my brother.”

He studied her quietly, expecting something worse. “Well, I assume he had it coming.”

“Did he ever,” Margot claimed. “What's  _ your  _ private carnage?”

It was then that he really wished he could drink. Something strong to loosen his tongue how she wanted it. He thought briefly about how much he really should say but his words slipped out before he could stop them. “I tried to murder Dr. Cavalli.”

Though she seemed taken aback, Margot tried to hide it. “Did  _ he _ have it coming?”

“What do you think?”

Margot shook her head slightly. “I can’t say that I know.”

He broke the eye contact that he was holding with her, shaking his head. “Neither can I.”

“We have some very similar issues,” Margot explained, sipping from her glass. “Although I doubt that Dr. Cavalli gave you the same advice on murder that he gave me.”

“And what's that?”

“He said... If at first, you don't succeed, try, try again.”

Bec offered a half-hearted shrug, the doctor did always have a point.

 

The next day, Bec found himself pacing the office, avoiding the dreaded chair for as long as he can. This whole bi-polar act he was messily performing must have been raising suspicion in the doctor.

The empath halted in front of the taller man, far beyond the taller man’s reach and behind the chair he was meant to be sitting in. “I'm curious what would happen if your patients started comparing notes, Dr. Cavalli. What would Randall Tier have to say to me?”

“What did Randall Tier say to you?”

“He said he was much better now,” Bec relayed. He couldn’t help the slight disbelieving chuckle in his voice. “That mental illness was treatable. Randall Tier is a success story.”

“You believe he's innocent?” Huesyth asked.

“I believe... your therapy was successful. You can be persuasive,” Bec expressed before a thought managed to snake his way into his brain. “How many have there been? Like Randall Tier? Like me?”

Bec knew that the feeling he should’ve had to Huesyth abusing other patients would be horror, disgust, or anger but all he felt was what that little green devil let him feel. Did he really want to be the special little empath that the mean, old doctor zeroed in on for his torments? Or did Bec just not want to share the same spotlight with Randall Tier?

“Every patient is unique,” Huesyth answered but that wasn’t the answer that Bec wanted. It was too impersonal. Something he’d say to one of his more unstable patients to make them feel special and heard.

So Bec did the only thing he knew Huesyth would react to and dug the knife lower. “Your psychiatrist came to visit me at the hospital before my trial.”

It caused the doctor to pause. “Dr. Du Maurier.”

“She told me she believed me. She knew there were others like me.”

Huesyth cut in. “Fascinating.”

It gave a boost to Bec’s ego to know that he could still surprise him. “Did you kill her?”

“No,” Huesyth answered simply, not giving much comfort.

The empath studied the taller man, trying to find a way to articulate what he wanted to say in a way that Huesyth would answer truthfully. “What do you think about when you think about killing?”

Huesyth sighed softly. “I think about God.”

“Good and evil?”

“Good and evil have nothing to do with God,” Huesyth claimed, a type of bitter edge in his voice as if he had a personal beef with the Lord. “I collect church collapses. Did you see the recent one in Sicily? The facade fell on sixty-five grandmothers during a special mass. Was that evil? Was that God? If he's up there, he just loves it. Typhoid and swans, it all comes from the same place.”

Bec raised an eyebrow at him. “Does Randall Tier believe in God?”

“Perhaps you should have a more personal conversation with Mr. Tier and ask him what he believes.”

Another deeper and sharper edge to that and Bec furrowed his brow slightly in confusion.

 

“The solitude of what you do is to be respected, and I intend to honor that,” Huesyth said from the concealment of trees at the edge of Bec’s property. The dark around he and the mechanical monstrosity of bones that was standing next to him keeping them from being seen. “I've only come to offer words of encouragement.”

As he expected, Randall did not respond. Huesyth figured that when he is in this suit, he is in a state of mind beyond human. The kill suit was a masterful work of engineering both efficient and terrifying, the jaw mask strapped around Randall’s face offered a horrifying and ready to tear flesh. Imagining those jaws dripping red with the blood of the empath made Huesyth’s stomach curl but he knew there was no other way. One day, Delmar would have to forgive him for all the wrong, bloody things he’d done to protect them.

“You are becoming, Randall and this beast is your higher self. Your bodies, voices, and wills are one,” The doctor turned, looking past the murderous jaws to where Randall’s very human eyes were. “Revel in what you are.”

It was the same form of encouragement he’d given to Bec and Margot. It wouldn’t be the last time the words left his lips but Randall was none the wiser.

The beast’s eyes were stuck ahead on the house in the distance, a warm yellow glow of lights leaking through the closed blinds of the windows.

 

The feeling followed Bec all the way home and as night descended on Wolf Trap, it had grown into paranoia that had him too nauseous to eat. He was about to force himself to go to sleep when the sharp, sudden sound of his phone ringing nearly made him jump out of skin again.

With Huesyth’s words still haunting his head, he picked up the phone and answered it begrudgingly.

“Hello?”

“ _ Bec, listen to me. Don’t talk just listen _ ,” A cold shiver ran down the empath’s spine at the fear-stricken voice of his brother. Bec was tempted to ask what he meant before Amaund began speaking again. “ _ I messed up, Bec. I didn’t listen to you and I messed everything up. _ ” A heavy sigh before a sharp “ _ Damnit! I messed up so bad. _ ”

“What happened? What did you do?” Bec questioned.

“... _He knows, Bec_ ,” The empath’s heart dropped into his stomach. “ _Cavalli knows that I was seeing his brother and he thinks we were planning something._ ”

“How the hell would he know that?”

Another shame-filled pause. “ _...I was at Delmar’s house. The doctor showed up unannounced and saw me. He recognized me from when I pretended to be a patient. Did you tell him my name? _ ”

Bec shook his head to himself, a pain slowly creeping up from the back of his mind. “Once when we were together. I didn’t think he’d remember it. Did you not use an alias when you were with Delmar?”

Amaund sounded as if he was rubbing his fist against his eyes as he made a disgruntled groan. “ _ I didn’t think I’d have to. I tried so hard to avoid Huesyth that I never thought- _ ”

A heavy thud emanated from the snake room and it caused another flinch from the empath. He moved quickly over to the doorway to see Wednesday curled up in a coil in the corner of his tank, rattling his false tail mercilessly in fear. Scanning over the tanks, Bec saw each of the snakes reacting in a range of fear to anger to some unseen enemy.

“ _ -Bec, what’s going on? You still there? _ ”

The empath’s widened eyes flicked over the many snakes’ reactions. “Something’s here.”

After another momentary pause, Amaund exploded with shouting and begging for the younger man to leave the house or get his gun or do  _ anything _ but just stand there in the snake room doorway like he was doing. The phone slipped from his ear and flipped it closed.

Bec moved quickly, flicking off the lights, closing the blinds, and locking the doors. Yanking his shotgun out from under the bed, he stood in the dark among the living room, staring at the doors and windows. The world became quiet, the only thing he heard was the sound of the snakes freaking out in their tanks. They must’ve sensed his anxiety which amplified their own.

He didn’t know what he was doing or when his life came to this but he was trapped in his own darkened house, being circled by what could only be described as a man in the suit of a beast. But Bec was in this beast’s head, just as much as Huesyth could be, and he knew how Randall killed.

There were sounds outside. The scrape of claws against the wood of his porch, the mechanical creak of joints and pulleys that held Randall’s monster together.

A shadow moved by the window to Bec’s left before something hurtled its way through it, a cascade of broken glass and splintered wood. A monster backlit by the blue moonlight and crashing into the living room.

 

Returning from the scene of Randall’s workshop, Huesyth felt far more empty than he did the few days prior. He managed to steer the FBI in Randall’s direction and now he was considered their prime suspect with every bit of evidence they’d need to convict him. All they were missing now was Randall himself and the monstrous suit he’d made into a murder weapon. They’d find him one day.

Huesyth was sure that once Bec’s body was found ravaged to pieces then Jack wouldn’t stop until Randall joined the same fate. But the anger the doctor felt towards the empath had depleted since leaving Randall alone outside Bec’s home and now all that was left was something bitter and cold. He was completely drained.

The doors to his dining room opened, he expected it to be as empty as he had left it but instead the table had been given a new centerpiece.

Sprawled across the expanse of the tabletop, Randall Tier lay dead. He’d been stripped of his skull mask and mechanical attributes left bare and human with the bloody cuts across his face with severe purple swelling around his left eye. His empty eyes looked up at the ceiling, never to see again.

Surprised, Huesyth’s eyes turned up from the body to the empath standing at the other end of the table, staring at the body and still alive and kicking despite Huesyth’s efforts. The doctor quickly turned and closed the dining room doors behind them, locking out the rest of the world so that it was only he and Bec and the body.

“I'd say this makes us even,” Bec spoke, voice quiet but rough. “I sent someone to kill you... you sent someone to kill me. We’re even.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	10. “Naka-Choko”

Bec moved quickly, flicking off the lights, closing the blinds, and locking the doors. Yanking his shotgun out from under the bed, he stood in the dark among the living room, staring at the doors and windows. The world became quiet, the only thing he heard was the sound of the snakes freaking out in their tanks. They must’ve sensed his anxiety which amplified their own.

He didn’t know what he was doing or when his life came to this but he was trapped in his own darkened house, being circled by what could only be described as a man in the suit of a beast. But Bec was in this beast’s head, just as much as Huesyth could be, and he knew how Randall killed.

There were sounds outside. The scrape of claws against the wood of his porch, the mechanical creak of joints and pulleys that held Randall’s monster together. A shadow moved by the window to Bec’s left before something hurtled its way through it, a cascade of broken glass and splintered wood. A monster backlit by the blue moonlight and crashing into the living room.

But it wasn’t the monster made of bone that he was expecting. Instead, it was the growling, foaming at the mouth wolf that appeared to him.

Fearing the worst, Bec recoiled, arms going up to shield his eyes from the onslaught of glass. Ducking out of its way as it landed in his living room, Bec looked up at the wolf to see that it changed again. The wendigo stared back at him, crouched on the floor across from him. Rising to his feet, Bec leveled the shotgun with its head, terrifyingly face to face before finally, the empath dropped the gun on the flood with a loud clatter.

The wendigo wasted no time in charging at the empath, swiping at the shorter man with clawed hands. Though Bec tried to dodge, those same clawed hands managed to curl into the material of his jacket. His feet left the ground, dragged up by the front of his jacket before he was being thrown across the room. When his back collided with one of the snakes' tanks, pain bloomed through his from his spine to his head. His brain was rattled and confused as he nearly curled in on himself.

Something scratched at his cheeks and through his throbbing headache, he realized his head ended up tucked inside of the tank he knocked over. The bedding of the terrarium made his face itch and the rocks were uncomfortable to lay on but the snake that was meant to be in there was nowhere in sight.

A shadow came over him and clawed hands clasped around his thin throat. The wendigo’s enraged face leered over him as its grip squeezed the air from his lungs and Bec’s hands scratched at its wrists. He struggled against it, kicking and clawing at the monster but it didn’t relent. It’s grip only got tighter until he was choking on the last breath that he held in his lungs.

A flash of lighting fast movement came from the side of his head and something sunk its fangs into the wendigo’s left eye. The onyx monster howled in pain, a very human howl, and retched backward, releasing Bec’s throat from its hold. Bec coughed and spit onto the floor, holding his neck in an attempt to rub away the pain.

The wendigo stomped around the room, screaming at the pain that was now shooting through its face from the snake bite. The venom must’ve been excruciating. While it was distracted, the empath struggled to his feet and he shot forward, grabbing the wendigo by the base of its antlers and head-butts the monster. Hard and sudden in the face and it caused the monster to stagger back, Bec driving it to the ground.

Dropping down onto his knees, straddling the monster, Bec rained heavy blows on the man snake beneath him. Punch after punch and hit after hit until blood flecked his face and the skin of his knuckles broke but through his red filled vision, he saw flashes of the true Huesyth. Unblemished by the onyx color of the wendigo or the intimidating antlers, the doctor stared back at Bec, grinning a bloody grin.

They glared at each other only briefly before a growl leaked from Bec’s lips. A rage he had never felt before filled him and when the wendigo faded back into view, Bec grabbed the antlers of the monster and twisted them abruptly with all the strength he could muster. A loud, grotesque crack filling the house as the neck of his attacker broke.

His breath came in gasps as his lungs struggled to keep him moving. As the adrenaline left him, the empath looked at what he’d done. Among the destroyed jaws of his murder suit, Randall Tier laid beneath him, his face bloodied, battered, and the left side of his eye swollen and purple, head twisted at an odd angle. He wasn’t an animal, a wendigo or a monster. He was human. Even after all of that suffering in life, a human will always be who he was.

Though his legs shook unsteadily, Bec had to stand up. Had to push away the image of the man’s dead face. The snakes were still freaking out in their tanks and the one that was pushed over made Bec pause. His eyes darted around out of fear that the man might’ve killed him.

“S-Sunday?” Bec whispered, voice coming out weak and harsh from the pain in his throat.

A soft hiss came from under one of the chairs and Bec all but flung himself towards it on his still wobbling legs. As he looked under the chair, he saw a shaking, coiled up ball hidden in the shadows. Bec shushed the frightened serpent as best he could, slowly reaching back to allow the snake to curl around the warmth of his hand. He couldn’t tell if he was shaking or Sunday was but Bec held the snake close to his chest despite the damage it inflicted on the man behind him.

“Thank you, Sunday,” Bec breathed, muttering his thanks to his pet.

He stumbled back into the snake room and all but collapsed onto the floor again, using one of his hands to turn the tank back over onto its base. He made an attempt to rearrange the bedding and rocks but soon he had to slide Sunday back into it before he turned his fangs on the empath. The lid of the terrarium clicked as he locked it back and then the sound of quickly approaching footsteps from outside had a spike of panic rising in him. Fear-stricken, Bec was about to scramble back up to his feet when heavy knocks rang out from the door.

“Bec! Bec, are you in there?” The person yelled and the panic leaked away when he recognized it.

“I’m in here, Amaund!” The empath shouted back as he slowly stood. When the door opened, the taller man shot in and wrapped his arms around his brother as quickly as possible. Bec could feel Amaund shaking.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” Amaund demanded but he was obviously relieved. “You scared the hell out of me. Why would you say stuff like that and then hang up?!”

Bec rested a hand on Amaund’s stomach to separate them but before he could explain the situation, Amaund eyes landed on the mess behind the empath in the dark house. The shattered glass and wood, the bloody body and grotesque broken bone suit. It was a lot to take in and Bec wasn’t surprised when Amaund could only stare in horror at the scene.

“I told you something was here.”

 

Amaund, despite nearly retching over the side of Bec’s porch rail, still held his brother as he shook with fear, helped strip the body of the mechanical suit to leave him with the black clothes beneath, and assisted in dragging Randall Tier’s out of his house and into the trunk of his car. Blood was still spattered over his floorboards, the window Randall destroyed would be a pain in the ass to get replaced and Bec was sure that Sunday wouldn’t trust another stranger to go anywhere near him. He and his brother didn’t talk as they drove to Huesyth’s house but Bec kept one of his arms wrapped tight around his midsection.

They made it to the outside of the home at the same time that Bec got off the phone with Jack, Huesyth’s car nowhere in sight, when Amaund finally spoke up. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Bec could’ve answered honestly and said no he absolutely didn’t but he was too angry to care. “He tried to have me killed because he thought we were using his brother. He’ll probably try again if I don’t set the record straight.”

Amaund went quiet, staring at the dark front of the house until he made a soft sigh. “I’m sorry, Bec.”

Bec probably shouldn’t have said anything at all, just gotten out of the car and dragged the body in but instead he turned to his brother. “Don’t go back to him… ever again.”

It touched a deep nerve and Bec knew it did. Amaund was far better at holding his tongue than the empath was. They dragged Randall’s body into Huesyth’s home, dumping it onto the dining room table and that is where the doctor found him when he returned. Amaund left quickly after the body was out of his car.

Sometime later, the doors to the dining room opened suddenly and he saw Huesyth stop in the doorway, taking in the scene. The doctor turned and closed the doors, hesitating only slightly before turning back around. 

“I'd say this makes us even,” Bec said, his voice was rough and painful from the bruises blooming on his neck. “I sent someone to kill you... you sent someone to kill me. We’re even.”

Soaking in the empath’s words, Huesyth gave a curt nod. “Consider it an act of reciprocity.”

The empath gave a breathy scoff. “Wouldn’t a polite society normally place a taboo on taking a life?”

“You’d think so but without death, we'd be at a loss. It's the prospect of death that drives us to greatness.” There was a tightness in his shoulders still that Bec couldn’t place until the taller man spoke again. “Do you know what you’re brother has been doing?”

There it was then. The bitter reason behind this whole escapade that managed to probably undo all of Bec’s work. Sighing softly, the empath asserted. “Amaund has left town. He won’t be bothering you or your brother again.”

But something twitched in Huesyth’s face. “Is that why you stink of sweet hay and cheap whiskey? Amaund was just here wasn’t he, Bec?”

He wished he could place the emotion on Huesyth’s face but there wasn’t anything else to hide behind anymore. Meekly, Bec explained. “I couldn’t move the body on my own.”

It was a simple honesty but he hated just how weak it made him sound. He already feared that all the fighting could’ve hurt the twins and he wasn’t taking any more chances. Despite the fact that he knew Huesyth wouldn’t attack him.

Slowly, Huesyth approached the table, eyes scanning over Randall’s body before they were pulled back to the shorter man. “Did you kill him with your hands?”

His fist clenched at his side, the splits on his knuckles pulling and sending a stinging sensation up his arm. The pain only reminding him that it was all real.

“It was…” Bec started before he brought his hand up, observing the bloody and bruised skin. He couldn’t tell what was his blood and what was Randall’s. “...Intimate.”

“It deserves intimacy.” Bec could hear the doctor rounding the table, not taking his eyes off Randall until he was right in front of the shorter man. “You were Randall Tier's final enemy.”

“You said you missed me,” Bec suddenly reminded him. “You said you wanted me back. I almost sensed regret in your voice when you said you shouldn’t have left me to my own mind. Would you have missed me if Randall had killed me?”

Huesyth was silent for a long moment but his face betrayed him. There was a flash of something soft, something weak. “Bec-”

“I bet you would have regretted it,” Bec whispered. He had let Huesyth jab at his open wounds for far too long. It was time he bit back. “Randall wouldn’t have filled the hole like me. No one would have been able to.”

Gently, Huesyth took Bec’s injured hand into his, the doctor was far warmer than Bec was expecting. He was eased down into the chair at the head of the table where Huesyth usually sat while the doctor left the room and returned with a pan of warm water and a simple first aid kit. Bec’s bloody, bruised hands were submerged in the pan, tinting the water a delicate pink until Huesyth began to wipe away the drying flecks of blood. Clouds of deep red floated about in the clear liquid as the blood was washed away.

Bec stared absently as Huesyth treated his wounds. He could feel the doctor’s eyes zeroing in on him every few moments before returning to his work.

“Don't go inside, Bec,” Huesyth finally said to break the quiet. “You may want to retreat just as the glint of the rail tempts us when we hear the approaching train.” He applied salve to the cuts and bruises on Bec’s hand, gently rubbing the ointment into open wounds to soothe them. “Stay with me.”

The empath didn’t know what was a truth or lie anymore. Everything was a risk that he had to take blindly and it has been established what they’re both capable of.

Huesyth carefully wrapped his knuckles in sterile white gauze and Bec watched as his injuries disappeared beneath the strips. Not meeting Huesyth’s gaze, Bec mumbled. “Where else would I go?”

“You have everywhere to go. Your brother and sister could shelter you or Jack could take you back under his wing. Instead, you’re here with me,” Huesyth reminded. “You should be quite pleased. I am.”

Bec’s look flicked up to Randall’s body, still splayed across the table in front of them. “Of course you are. You love when I need you.”

A silence stretched between them until the doctor broke it once more with a question. “When you killed Randall, did you fantasize you were killing me?”

Without speaking, Bec finally turned his dark gaze up to the other man and without even having to speak, a small smile quirked the edges of Huesyth’s lips. “Most of what we do, most of what we believe, is motivated by death.”

A rush of vivid emotion came over the empath and with a dark mumble, Bec disclosed shakily. “I've never felt as alive as I did when I was killing him.”

The shorter man could see how the doctor scanned over his face, searching for doubt or regret or lies and finding nothing. “Then you owe Randall Tier a debt. How will you repay him?”

 

**MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY**

He got the call for Randall’s body late that night, little did Jack or the FBI team know that he hadn’t left Huesyth’s house since they had returned from the museum.

But they went back together when Jack requested them to, walking into the large room with its towering ceiling and there sat dead center of the room was the sabertooth skeleton that Randall had built. It was now lit by the flood lamps the FBI brought in, outlining its horror. 

Except for the nightmarish appearance of Randall’s head situated on top of the sabertooth’s, cut off at the jaw. A human man’s head, eyes staring off blank and empty, with the savage protruding fangs of a great predator. His left eye was still a swollen bruise-colored mess from Sunday sinking his fangs into him. The skeletal chest of the big cat stopped suddenly as Randall’s arms and legs replaced the sabertooth’s own limbs.

Twisted and crude, a malformed hybrid of man and beast just the way that Randall Tier wanted to be.

Keeping his face carefully blank, Bec took in the work as he approached the display, avoiding Randall’s glazed eyes as Jack began speaking. “The killer chose not to dispose of the body but to display it. Painfully publically.”

“A jarring reminder of the informality of death,” Huesyth claimed as he observed the work.

Jack’s eyes lingered questioningly on the doctor but he continued. “Randall Tier was denied the respectful end that he himself denied others.”

“This is a humiliation, a final indignity.”

Oh, no. They were being too narrow-minded. He wasn’t one of the other killer’s they had faced in the past. Bec couldn’t help but shake his head slightly at their theories. “No. He’s not trying to mock him. This isn't a show of disdain. He's... commemorating him.”

None of them understood his thought process as he shifted the body of a human into that of a predator. He was fulfilling a final, dying wish of a man begging to be free of his own skin. The empath did that for him. He freed him.

“This killer has no fear of the consequences of what he's done,” Huesyth explained, keeping his eyes on Bec.

“No guilt.” The empath approached the display, forcing Jack and Huesyth out of his line of sight and focusing solely on Randall. With a deep inhale and the drop of his eyelids, the world faded from view as the pendulum swung.

_ His eyes opened and the world was exactly the same except cleared of any other prying eyes, the lights disappearing and leaving he and the beast alone in the darkness. _

“Hello again,” _ Bec greeted. _ “We never had a proper goodbye, did we?”

_ “As proper as a maw of teeth plunging into a soft throat.” He watched the skeletal monstrosity until the very human eyes blinked, refocused, and landed on him. A disembodied echo of Randall’s voice seemed to emanate from the display. “Come closer. I want to see you.” _

_ Bec listened, stepping closer until he was right in front of the head and the eyes followed his movements. But he doesn’t stop. He begins stepping around the display, taking in each little detail of his work. He hoped Randall would be happy with the transformation. _

_ “Can you see you?” _

“Clearer and clearer every day,” _ Bec responded, listening intently to the way the other man’s voice bounced off the stone walls. Something moved in the shadows around him.  _ “Don’t act so surprised. You forced me to kill you.”

_ “I didn't force you to enjoy it. You made me into a monument.” His eyes finally landed on the monster in the shadows and found it was a man. Randall, naked and primal even without his suit, stood in a haunting silhouette against the dark backdrop. His jaw was warped by the protruding fangs from his face, too big for his mouth. _

“You’re welcome,” _ Bec continued as the human form of his display turned from him. _

_ “The monument is not for me,” Randall reminded him without having to move his grotesque mouth. “It's to you.” _

“I gave you exactly what you wanted,”  _ The empath relented, returning to the front of his display and looking back into the empty eyes of the dead man instead of the beast behind him. _ “This is who you are. What you saw when you looked in the mirror. What you feel finally matches the reality of what I see.”

_ “This is my becoming.” A heavy hand landed on his shoulder from behind and it took every bit of willpower to keep himself from turning around. “And it's yours.” _

_ But Bec disagreed, shaking his head again. This wasn’t his becoming. Not yet.  _ “This is my design.”

Color seemed to fade back into the world as he reopened his eyes to find the display flooded by light again. Jack and Huesyth were behind him now on either of his sides, the angel and devil on his shoulders now that Beverly was gone.

“He knew his killer,” The empath revealed to the men. “There's a... familiarity here. Someone who met him, understood him. Someone like him. Different pathology, same instinct.”

“His killer empathized with him?” Jack questioned.

“Don't mistake understanding for empathy, Jack,” Bec corrected over his shoulder but his attention was focused on the display. “No, if there's anything, it's... it's envy.”

“Envy?”

Bec elaborated, feeling the weight of Huesyth’s gaze on him. “Randall Tier came into his own much easier than whoever killed him.”

“This was a fledgling killer,” Huesyth added. “He had never killed before, not like this.”

“Not like this, no.” Bec stared into the haunting gaze of Randall’s head. “This is the nightmare that followed him out of his dreams.”

 

His heavy knocks rattled the flimsy hotel room door but he heard a scurry of movement inside before the door opened and Freddie emerged. She gave him a quick judging once over before stepping aside and allowing him to enter. The inside of the room was just as chaotic as he assumed it to be but was telling enough. Articles and newspaper clippings, a collage of research prominently related to Bec, Jack, Huesyth and the Chesapeake Ripper, but also Chilton.

Freddie sat at one of the chairs in the room as Bec observed her set up. “I've upped the ante on my publishing deal. There's been movie interest. Hollywood is a fine place for the obnoxious and wealthy.”

“You're not wealthy, Freddie,” The empath reminded her over his shoulder.

“Oh, I will be,” She stated surely with a quirk of a smile. No malice or edge like that of a hungry predator but more of a cunning prey animal. Always out of reach of any beast wanting to sink their fangs into her. She’s already a step ahead. “No, I am a pariah among journalists because I took a different faith, but I am putting that faith in you.”

She leaned forward, pressing the button on her handheld recorder. “Let's talk about the Chesapeake Ripper. Frederick Chilton. Who knew?”

“Who knew,” Bec repeated, averting his gaze from her prying eyes at the mention of his old doctor.

“No one did. No one would, not even you. You were so certain the Chesapeake Ripper was Huesyth Cavalli, you tried to kill him.”

He took that in stride, calmly correcting her. “You neglected to say ‘allegedly’.”

“No, I didn't,” Freddie replied with a shake of her head. “Huesyth Cavalli is your psychiatrist again. What's up with that?”

“I was wrong about him. That's what's up with that.”

Freddie shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe you were. Maybe you weren't.”

It was Bec’s turn to narrow his eyes at the redhead questioningly. What did she think she knew? “Dr. Chilton was the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“The Chesapeake Ripper had surgical skills. Dr. Chilton did not.”

“They had the same profile,” Bec added as he circled the sofa he’d been avoiding and finally sat down heavily.

“Dr. Chilton was a woeful surgeon. Dangerous, even. I've been chatting with some of his old medical school chums. They say he fled to psychiatry to avoid embarrassment.”

The story never was rock solid, neither was the profile that they relied on. But Huesyth was Bec’s fish to catch. Not Freddie’s. He stared at her, considering all she knew. “My story with the Chesapeake Ripper already has an ending, Freddie.”

“Mine doesn’t,” She snapped as she leaned forward in her seat. “Do you really think Dr. Chilton killed Abigail Hobbs? I don't. Even if I let this story go, I will never let that go.”

Bec leaned back in the sofa. “Trust me, Freddie... neither will I.”

 

A gentle knock came at his door and he couldn’t help but flinch. He still felt uneasy walking amongst his own home, especially when the nighttime settled in. But he swallowed that spike of paranoia and opened his front door to see Margot once again on his porch. Despite the extravagant fur jacket she had on to fight the cold, she still seemed tired and softer than usual.

She offered a smile and held up a bottle of whiskey, more expensive than any kind he’d buy for himself. “I've come to replenish your stores.”

Margot entered and Bec lets her past him as he shut the door behind her. She poured herself a glass from the bottle after tossing off the thick coat she wrapped herself in.

Peering into his bedroom, Margot raised an eyebrow at the haphazard board he had put over the hole that Randall left. “What happened to your window?”   
“A stag got lost in the storm, came through there,” Bec explained but the Verger sister turned back to him with a questioning expression. “Got a few scratches getting him out.”

A quirk of a smile before she turned away again. “Are you scarred?”

With a heavy sigh, the empath disclosed. “Probably more than I know.”

Margot took another sip from her glass before she finally lowered it, stepping in front of the man. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He raised his own brow at her suggestion. “I don't have the right parts for your proclivities, Margot.”

But she still approached, unafraid, as her hands went to the buttons on her blouse. Bec halted her movements with a hand on her’s. “No, no. You don’t have to do that,” He whispered.

“We aren’t doing anything,” Margot stated. “I’m just sure there’s more than that.”

She ran a careful, delicate finger across the scar on his throat, still enough to startle him slightly. With a sigh, he relented but her hands came up to work the buttons of his shirt as he did her’s. They pulled the clothing aside at nearly the same time, her fingers played at the raised edges of the gunshot scar in his left shoulder that Jack had left him with. But his skin was decorated in scrapes and bruises. Some were still raw and red from Randall’s attack.

Margot turned as the blouse fell from her torso. Bec’s own hand found a recent surgery scar across her shoulder, other scars blemishing the skin of her back below it.

“Who did this to you?” He asked.

“My brother,” Margot answered heavily as she turned back to him, pushing his shirt down. “Who shot you?”

“A friend.”

Her eyes averted from his, almost shamefully. “Do you trust me?”

Bec furrowed his brow at her. “I don’t know you enough to trust you.”

“But we’re still here, bare for each other only,” Margot expressed matter-of-factly. “I don’t need you to trust  _ me _ . Just… my motives.”

It was true that he had just let her strip him, something he hadn’t let anyone do since he found out he was pregnant. He avoided any form of interaction that would allow him to be topless around Huesyth like the plague. But he let Margot Verger run her clever fingers down the buttons of his shirt and feel against the same scars that he once let Huesyth touch. Maybe some part of him did want to trust her. To have someone else in his corner outside of his family.

“What are you trying to tell me, Margot?”

There was a wateriness in her eyes but not tears. A form of vulnerability. “My brother would have me killed if I step out of line again. The only way to avoid that is by-” “Killing him first,” Bec cut in.

“Yes, exactly,” Margot nodded slightly. “But without a male heir, I’ll lose everything. Even in death, he’ll still be taking everything with him.”

It seemed to connect all the dots in his head and something in him was telling him to back out while he still had the chance to. But something else was telling him to be the help that he never got because if she ended up dead on the news then it will be his fault just as much as it would be her brother’s.

He met eyes with her and held her steady by the shoulders. “I’ll try to help you.”

A soft sigh of relief before a small smile quirked her lips.

 

The relief didn’t last long and before he knew it Margot was pulling herself out of his bed, dressing quietly before collecting her jacket and leaving. Bec watched silently, didn’t even try to break the awkward silence between them. He gave her what she wanted and he needed to let her go. He knew when to keep his mouth shut.

But that left him alone in his house once again. Usually, he would’ve been content with the peacefulness his far-off house gave him but that night, his head couldn’t seem to shut off. He heard every little sound that the older house made and thought that it was another enemy. On edge but tired, Bec finally made a decision.

A very stupid decision that led him to an all too familiar doorstep. The light above him was still on as he knocked loudly on the thick wood so he hoped the late time wouldn’t be misconstrued as invasively rude. He couldn’t hear the approaching footsteps before the door was opened and Huesyth stood before him. Instinctually, Bec’s shoulders tightened but he shoved his hands back into his long coat pockets as he cocked his head slightly.

“Hello, Bec,” Huesyth greeted warmly upon seeing the empath.

“Good evening, Dr. Cavalli. I hope you’ll forgive me for the hour but I… guess I couldn’t wait until our next session.”

A knowing smile graced the man’s face as he stepped aside. “No trouble at all, Bec. Please come in.”

The empath stepped passed the taller man and the door closed loudly at his back as he began pacing through the doctor’s home. He knew it intimately by then. Most of his knowledge coming from when he had spent those few days in Huesyth’s house with him after being attacked by Tobias. It was a far calmer time then when he was living blindly in thinking that Huesyth wasn’t a cannibalistic serial killer who sent him to a psychiatric prison.

Finding himself in Huesyth’s living room, Bec’s eyes were drawn to the sofa in front of the dark fireplace. Without its flames, the room felt colder.

“Is there a specific reason that you’ve found yourself on my doorstep tonight?” Huesyth asked from behind him and Bec didn’t even try to suppress the shudder that went through him.

Fighting for a plausible reason, Bec looked to the floor. “I told you. I couldn’t wait and I was in town so I thought I’d stop by.”

He didn’t have to look Huesyth in the eye to tell that the doctor must have narrowed his eyes at the back of the shorter man’s head.

“You were… in town?” Huesyth repeated, voice laced with doubt.

Mentally chastising himself for the horrible excuse, Bec wanted to curl in on himself. With the shake of his head, he turned on his heel, heading back towards the door at a leisurely pace. “If you have something better to do then I can leave.”

Suddenly, Huesyth’s hands landed on his shoulders to stop his movement and Bec let himself be moved back a step or two to keep him steady. He was face to face with Huesyth’s chest and fought back the urge to look up and kiss him.

“Are you feeling any regret, Bec? Do you see Randall’s face when you close your eyes?” The doctor asked him, his voice a low rumble in their close proximities.

“No, no. Not regret,” Bec replied softly, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. His sleeves were long enough to nearly hide them and he knew he must’ve looked pitiful. “I just… didn’t want to be alone right now.”

Another silent moment passed and Bec was ready to cut his losses when Huesyth moved forward to press his lips gently against the empath’s forehead. It soothed him, the tension that led him there draining from his body as he allowed himself to be pulled forward into Huesyth’s awaiting arms.

He could feel the heat of Huesyth’s body intensify as the taller man leaned closer to tug his coat aside, the scarf warming his neck was pulled off and dropped to the floor. Huesyth placed a soft kiss on the column of Bec’s throat, over his scar. On the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw, and the high point of his cheek, anywhere he could. He finally buried his nose against the crook of the empath’s shoulder as he held him close and inhaled a long, deep breath.

The empath hoped that he managed to shower off most of the scent of Margot that might’ve lingered. He had no idea how Huesyth would respond to that kind of betrayal so soon after the last one. He didn’t know how many more he could be forgiven for.

Although, Huesyth seemed satisfied with him though as he pulled back just enough to press a kiss against Bec’s face against. “You smell sweeter than you did before, my dear.”

Feeling brave, Bec brought a hand up to brush against the back of Huesyth’s head, cradling him. “Before what exactly?”

A pause as he thought before Huesyth answered against the empath’s skin. “Before Gideon’s attack on Dr. Chilton.”

Bec tried not to stiffen at the specific mention because he knew that the day he had that horrible dream about his body rotting in the woods had to have been the same day that he got pregnant. The timeline fit the best. He didn’t know that Huesyth was paying as close attention to him as Bec was.

He hooked his arm around Huesyth’s neck, still open and wanting. “You mean before my mind caught fire?”

Nuzzling closer, Huesyth replied. “Yes, lovely.”

“It was easier then…  _ before _ ,” Bec expressed, picking absentmindedly at the buttons of Huesyth’s dress shirt with his free hand. “It felt like you were the only person in my life that I could trust.”

He had no idea what shifted in his mind to make him open up so much but he could tell that Huesyth was lapping it all up. Exhaling softly, the doctor tugged at the empath’s coat lapels.

“Will you follow me, Bec?”

The younger man nodded and let himself be pulled urgently up the stairs with his hand held loosely in Huesyth’s. He found himself standing in Huesyth’s bedroom, familiar territory to him as he gazed over to the bed. He remembered just how soft and inviting the clean, crisp sheets were against his naked skin.

By the way that Huesyth turned to him and began slipping his coat from shoulders, Bec was positive that he would be feeling those sheets again very soon. However, he hesitated when the doctor’s hands went to the buttons of his shirt. Fighting with himself internally about if he should let him see just what he’d done to the empath. Their intimacy taking physical form inside of Bec.

“May I?” The doctor asked softly and Bec’s hands fell away.

He let the dark material of his shirt be peeled away. Soon, all of Bec’s clothes were pooled on the floor and he stood naked, bare to Huesyth’s hungry eyes only. The soft curve of his belly didn’t protrude drastically but there was surely enough of a change that his former lover would probably notice it.

But if Huesyth did notice, he didn’t mention it as he maneuvered the empath over to one of the corners of the room that held a tall mirror. Averting his gaze at the sight of his own naked reflection, Bec could feel a red blush begin to bloom across his skin, the only warmth he felt in the cool room.

Huesyth paced around Bec, his eyes tracing every line in the younger man's face. Every hair, every scar, all of it was considered a perfection to him. This was a more intimate kind of therapy they were partaking in. A trust exercise of their very own.

"Can you look in the mirror for me?" Huesyth whispered, his eyes alight with curiosity and barely contained arousal. Bec knew that his confusion showed on his face, but he obeyed obediently. "Beautiful. Now... tell me, who do you see?"

He stared into the glass, taking in the same body that Huesyth was. He saw many different people, the profiler, the empath, the friend, a son, a brother, and now a parent. All the forms he’d taken to satisfy everyone else’s comfort. But that wasn’t who he really was, was it? Did he even know who he  _ really _ was?

Sighing softly before answering, Bec found himself straightening up as he murmured shakily. “A killer.”

It was a much newer form he’d adapted. One that wasn’t completely Huesyth’s fault. Stopping his walking, Huesyth matched eyes with the reflection of Bec in the mirror. “Are you looking at you or me, lovely?”

His breath caught in his throat and without his protective layers of clothing, anyone could see the way his chest heaved with every inhale. Eyes averting to the floor again, Bec took in a deep breath. “It’s both of us, isn’t it? Me with Hobbs and Randall and you with… Tobias.”

For a brief second, Huesyth seemed almost confused before his expression smoothed out again in realization. He nodded with an easy smile as he approached Bec’s back. “Of course. You once told me that it felt it good to kill Hobbs-“

“ _ Just, _ ” The empath corrected as his eyes returned to the mirror. “It felt just.”

“Did it feel as just when you killed Randall?”

The empath’s brow furrowed at the trap laid in that question. Huesyth was backing him into a corner and Bec was letting him do it. But he matched eyes with his reflection again, scanning over the painful marks that Randall had left and the bump of his stomach. He was protecting himself and his children from a monster. There was nothing more just than that.

“Yes,” Bec finally replied. “The two of us stepped into a ring expecting the other to die violently. I was just the lucky victor.”

“You didn’t step in as equals, however,” Huesyth reminded. “Your enemy possessed a mechanical suit with piston-powered jaws and steel claws, all of which capable of crushing bones. All you had were your own two hands and a venomous snake.”

As Huesyth pressed against the skin of his back, Bec let the man wind his arms around his middle. Firm and warm, the empath melted back into the embrace. “You didn't give me much choice, Dr. Cavalli.”

Bec heard a soft exhale through Huesyth’s nose as the taller man came down to press his lips gently against the exposed crook of his shoulder. “Neither did you when you sent that orderly after me. At least Randall kept his scarring of you to a minimum.”

It came back to his memory quickly just what Matthew Brown had done to Huesyth and Bec turned his attention to the arms around his waist. Pulling up the doctor’s right forearm, he found a jagged but mostly healed vertical scar down the length of the taller man’s wrist. Something in him still couldn’t regret what he did to Huesyth but he ran a gentle thumb over the scar as if to soothe the burn.

“Both survived attacks, both scarred by the experiences, both falling back into the other’s arms soon after,” Bec listed off as he turned his head back to gaze at Huesyth over his shoulder. “Is this your way of saying we’re equal? If not in our resilience then in our foolishness and self-destructive personalities.”

That gained a soft laugh from the doctor, one of his hands sliding up to lay flat against Bec’s sternum as he held him. “We are very much like two volatile compounds.”

“Only coming together to make a violent reaction?” Bec questioned.

“So it seems.”

Bec gave a lopsided smile to the reflections in the mirror. “At least we’re self-aware in our destruction. So many others would rather stay ignorant to that sort of thing.”

“Ah but we aren’t like many others, my dear,” Huesyth murmured into the younger man’s ear. The hand still around his waist finally moved again but lower until it wrapped in a loose fist around Bec’s length. A breathy sound slipped passed the empath’s lips as he was pulled back more firmly against Huesyth’s still clothed front. The hand on his chest being the only thing keeping him standing straight.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” Bec breathed, rocking up into the taller man’s grip.

A hot tongue was laved across his shoulder, tasting Bec’s skin more thoroughly as Huesyth tried to elicit more sounds, more reactions, from his dear empath. But the slack grip on his cock and the clever tongue wasn’t enough. Bec swallowed heavily, couldn’t help himself as he took hold of the hand on his chest and drug it up to his neck, covering it and making it like a chokehold around his throat. His chest tightened when he heard Huesyth’s shaky growl against his shoulder.

“You’re treading in dangerous waters, Bec,” The doctor hissed, a vague threat that Bec simply took as a promise for  _ more _ .

The hand on his neck tightened and the empath leaned his head back against Huesyth’s shoulder to bare more of his willing throat. “Have I been rude, Dr. Cavalli?”

“ _ Terribly, _ ” Huesyth ground out through clenched teeth, sending a shiver through Bec’s body.

Turning his head towards Huesyth’s face, Bec whispered. “Maybe you should eat me then.”

He pressed his lips gently against the taller man’s jaw as another growl seemed to drip from Huesyth’s mouth. Bec could feel the drag of the doctor’s fangs against his skin before those teeth finally sunk into the flesh of his shoulder, burning as they broke the skin. It pulled a strangled moan from the younger man and Bec nearly collapsed to the floor as his legs shook but Huesyth held him up. He anchored the empath to him with the hand on his throat and the teeth in his shoulder, his other hand gripping the younger man’s cock tightly.

Bec felt the rumble of an animalistic purr through the teeth as they were pulled from his skin. It wasn’t bleeding horribly but that didn’t stop the doctor from running his tongue across it, cleaning it, soothing the sting he caused as Bec shook desperately in his arms.

As he tried to catch his breath, Bec didn’t notice when he was being pulled back to the bed until Huesyth shifted him in his arms and laid him across the sheets. Planting his arms firmly on either side of the empath’s head to cage him in, Huesyth returned his attention to pressing searing kisses against Bec’s neck and chest. 

Allowing himself to melt into the affection he’d been lacking for months, Bec let his mind slip. Wander away from him as the cage he put around himself lowered minutely. He let himself enjoy the feeling of being taken care of for once, another one of the things he missed most from the early days of their relationship. Huesyth taking care of any need he had, feeding him extravagant meals, dressing him in high-end fashions, and making love to him like he was the only person that meant anything. Back when the empath was ignorant to what some men were capable of and wanting desperately to have someone like him by his side.

It made Bec’s chest ache and he thought for sure that there were tears stinging the corners of his eyes. The warm hands splayed across his ribs did nothing to comfort the wound in his heart. He couldn’t trust Huesyth even if he wanted to. Not even as he let the doctor between his open legs or let him sink his teeth into his skin knowing he wouldn’t bite too deep or leave permanent damage. Their trust was only skin deep to Bec.

The weight on the bed shifted noticeably and the empath immediately stiffened as Huesyth began moving downwards, over his chest and so close to his stomach. His hands shot down and landed on the doctor’s shoulders, tugging slightly on Huesyth’s shirt.

“Come back here, please,” Bec commanded softly.

Curiously, Huesyth’s eyes turned back up to him and moved back up Bec’s body, pressing quick, delicate kisses across his skin before landing on the empath’s lips. He cupped the taller man’s face in his hands before winding his arms around Huesyth’s neck to pull him in as close as he could, feeding off the warmth he gave off like one of his snakes would.

A hand was pressed against Huesyth’s shoulder to push him back. Bec whispered. “Let me...”

Suddenly obedient, the doctor was eased to the side, laying back against the sheets so that Bec could roll on top of him. The empath’s legs fell on either side of Huesyth’s hips and he sat up on his knees to gaze down at the taller man. His hands were heavy on Huesyth’s chest, as though Bec was leaning on him for balance. It was Bec’s turn to undo the buttons of the doctor’s shirt, peeling it off of him and throwing it carelessly off the bed despite the glare he gained from Huesyth.

The doctor couldn’t seem to control his hands after that though as they worked their way up Bec’s thighs until they reached his waist. The younger man’s cock was still hard, now leaking with precum beading at the head and Huesyth looked up at him as if he wanted to eat him whole.

“Do you still keep the lube in the same place?” Bec asked, smiling sweetly when Huesyth seemed to swallow heavily. The doctor nodded and the younger man retrieved the clear bottle from the bedside table.

Bec poured the lube out onto his fingers before resting his clean hand on Huesyth’s chest to keep himself steady. He could tell when the doctor’s mouth went dry as he worked his fingers into himself and let out a single breathy moan at the sensation. He sat up and leaned back, riding his fingers as if they were Huesyth’s cock. But the doctor’s cock was still trapped within the confines of his trousers, the hints of friction that Bec’s grinding created driving the taller man up the wall. He returned his hands to Bec’s hips, thumbs running along his jutting hip bones as the empath prepped himself.

His head bowed as he fought back a whine, the messy dark curls on Bec’s head falling down into his eyes to hide his face. A hand reached up to brush his curls aside, revealing his face again before settling lovingly on his cheek.

“Don’t hide from me, my dear,” Huesyth breathed and the empath whimpered, nuzzling into the offered hand.

Retracting his fingers from himself, Bec finally reached down to tug open Huesyth’s pants and pull his cock free. It throbbed in the empath’s hand as he slicked it with lube, pulsing with  _ want _ and  _ need _ . Suddenly, Huesyth’s hips rose up, almost throwing Bec off balance as he kicked off his pants and underwear.

“I’m sorry,” Huesyth apologized as Bec settled back on his lap. But the empath didn’t mind, sitting up on his knees again to guide Huesyth’s length to his entrance.

Bec could swear he heard another growl leave Huesyth’s lips as he lowered himself onto him and the empath let out a desperate sound as well. It was the doctor’s name. Imbued with pleasure and a deep-rooted fire that threatened to burn them both alive.

He rocked slowly back and forth, careful little movements of his hips but soon he was leaning forward over the doctor.

“Touch me,” Bec begged, breathing heavily. “H-Huesyth, please. I-I can’t.”

Huesyth didn’t need to be told twice as his arms wrapped around the younger man and held him tight. Kissing up Huesyth’s jaw until he pressed their lips together again, a choked groan left the empath’s mouth as he began to move his hips again.

There was no true sense to the movements, no patterns. It was a give and take of pleasure as Huesyth forced himself up while Bec pushed down, running their needy hands across the exposed skin not already pressed together.

“Yes, Huesyth, yes.  _ Harder- _ ” Bec chanted into the taller man’s mouth.

He knew how much the doctor enjoyed the sounds he made, the begging, the praises. It made another deep sound bubble up in Huesyth’s throat.

Their rhythm evened out soon enough when Huesyth wrapped a steady arm around his waist, burying the other hand in his curls to keep his head in place while he planted his feet to leverage his thrusts more firmly into Bec. The empath cried out as soon as Huesyth bottomed out inside him, his body rocking into the movements desperately as he sat back up. He grabbed onto Huesyth’s arms for dear life, his nails no doubt biting into the skin there and all the doctor could do was keep going.

The empath was boiling from the inside out. His body felt like it had been lit on fire by a bolt of electricity, hitting everything single nerve as it went through him. Huesyth’s hand returned to his waist again, holding him still, no doubt leaving bruises in the shapes of the doctor’s fingers. But Bec didn’t care anymore, he already bore the shape of the taller man’s teeth in his shoulder, he was already carrying his children. There wasn’t much else that Huesyth could do to him in order to claim him.

He didn’t even notice that his eyes were shut until he opened them again and found an inky stain against the crisp white sheets. The wendigo was beneath him again, but instead of Bec ferociously beating the monster to near death, he let its onyx hands grasp his hips and grind his ass back onto its cock. It’s usually towering antlers nearly hit the wall above the headboard and he felt its thick tail coil behind him, the strength in the working muscles of it bringing another moan from him. A low, pleased rumble rattled up from its chest and he almost expected to see the black snake pressing its face against its stomach.

A normal person would’ve been horrified at the sight of the half snake beast but Bec wasn’t. He smoothed his hands against the dark skin and scales of its torso and let the warmth bloom there. The darkness of the figure’s face split into a grin, its fangs glittering white, and he smiled back.

He let his eyes slip closed again, focusing only on the feeling of the doctor’s cock moving inside him, hard and hot and pressing persistently against his prostate. When he opened his eyes again, Huesyth’s human form had returned to the space beneath him.

“ _ Faster, _ ” Bec pleaded and Huesyth obeyed, his hips moving faster until the empath was seeing stars. “Huesyth, I-”

Suddenly, with a loud moan that reverberated from deep in his chest, Bec came, arching his back with his climax and painting the skin between them with white spurts. The sharp whines and punched out whimpers alone could’ve been enough to bring Huesyth to completion but it was ultimately the way Bec clenched and tightened around his cock that pulled him over the edge. His hands clutching the empath’s hips as the younger man shook in his arms at the feeling of being filled again. Temporarily, Bec lost the ironclad grip he’d been holding on his pride and allowed himself to feel.

Heaving with satisfied exhaustion, Bec felt a gentle hand brush against his face again. He had collapsed against the doctor’s chest, curled against Huesyth’s front. They didn’t need to speak again and break the comfortable ease that they found themselves in. A soft kiss was pressed against his forehead as he was maneuvered onto the empty side of the bed. The sheets were pulled up around him as Huesyth pulled him against his front again to keep him warm.

Bec would admit it, he felt happy. However brief the feeling was, he was happy.

 

Huesyth would’ve done anything to not have to get out of his bed the next morning. When the light shined through to blind him and remind him that he hadn’t died and ascended to heaven, he looked over to see the empath sleeping soundly beside him. Covered in small hickies with his chest bare to the world, Huesyth couldn’t help but feel a warm burst of affection bloom within him. He wanted to burrow back between the sheets with Bec and never resurface again.

But then a sharp sound pierced the peaceful nature of the room, even making the doctor jump with its suddenness. Huesyth scrambled out of the tangle of sheets to find the source of the ringing and was about to tear through Bec’s clothes before he tracked the noise down to his own pants. The sound of his own ringtone never sounded like more of a betrayal until he spent the next few on the phone with Verger family consultant, asking him to come to the farm to meet Mason himself. The only catch was that it had to be as soon as possible and Huesyth had to fight back his want to groan in disappointment.

When he finally got to hang up the call, he ran a hand down his face.

“Duty calls?” A soft voice asked.

Huesyth looked back up to the bed to see the formerly sleeping empath staring at him curiously from the bundle of crumpled sheets.

With a sigh, the doctor stood and slid back into the bed, lying on his side to run a gentle hand through Bec’s curls. The younger man made a breathy noise through his nose as he settled into the touches.

“I’ve been summoned by the family of a patient,” Huesyth explained.

Bec hummed quietly to show he was still listening despite his eyes sliding shut. “Little early for a meeting don’t you think?”

The doctor made a breathy chuckle. “Trust me, there’s nothing I’d rather do than spend the morning in bed with you, my dear.”

His eyes peering open again, a small smile quirked the empath’s lips as he tugged the taller man forward to press their lips together. A kiss equal parts sleepy and inviting and making it harder for Huesyth to pull back again. Sometimes being professional just wasn’t worth it when he had someone like Bec to take up his time.

“But one of us has to be an adult today, huh?” Bec whispered, nuzzling their faces together slightly before he laid back against the pillows. “Can I use your shower before I leave?”   
“Of course, Bec.”

The taller man moved out of the bed, slipping on the pants he wore the night before as he went down to make breakfast for the two of them. If asked why it took him so long to drive out to Muskrat Farm, Huesyth would probably just say it was traffic and not him deliberately dragging his feet like a child.

But he made it out there, the piles of fresh snow pushed to the sides of the roads doing nothing to help the smell emanating from the towering building of the pig barn. He was shown into the building by who he assumed was one of the Verger’s men. The sounds of the hogs grew louder and louder the farther they entered the barn until Huesyth was led up a staircase to a tall landing overlooking the pens below them.

But standing by the rails, watching the pigs with rapt attention, was who he assumed was the Verger heir himself. With wild dirty blonde locks and square glasses in front of his piercingly pale eyes that seemed slightly vacant, the younger man turned to the doctor. A broad smile breaking out over his face as he exhaled a breath that was visible in the cold air.

“Dr. Cavalli. Mason Verger,” The man introduced, politely shaking the doctor’s offered hand. “So very nice to finally meet you. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

The man who showed Huesyth the way into the building loitered behind him, dark clothes and brimmed hat giving him an air of mystery. “I'm prone to old-world politeness. Would have seemed rude to say no.”

“Since I'm paying for Margot's therapy, I thought I should at the very least meet her psychiatrist.”

“I enjoy putting a face to the name,” Huesyth expressed before a loud yowling of the pigs below drew his attention away from the Verger. “Your swine are exceptional. Never seen pigs like these.”

“They're a special breed,” Mason commented. “Product of many years, many litters.”

Peering down at the hogs, Huesyth cocked his head slightly. “What's your ground note?”

“We started with Giant Forest pigs. Six teats, thirty-eight chromosomes, a resourceful feeder, and an opportunistic omnivore.”

“Just like man.”

Huesyth could feel Mason’s eyes on the side of his head, studying him. “You must know pigs as well as you know people.”

The doctor took his eyes away from the animals and returned his gaze to the younger man, he heard enough horror stories from Margot to not be able to tell a difference between the pigs below them and Mason himself. “I do know pigs.”

“Papa would've loved you. He could feel the face of a hog and tell by the bone structure its genetic makeup. Breeding was very important to my father. Margot really pissed him off with all her... button stitching. No breeding there,” Mason looked the doctor up and down before asking. “Do you have a sister, Dr. Cavalli?”

“I don’t. I have a brother.”

Mason shrugged loosely at the correction. “Well, you still must understand my need to protect Margot, mostly from herself. She's quite pathological, you see. I'm sure she's told you about all the horrible things that I've done.”

The attempt at a comparison between Huesyth and Delmar and Mason and Margot made the doctor want to curl his lip in disgust. Huesyth sunk a hatchet into the skull of the man who beat his brother and Mason… well, Mason is Mason. His broad forehead and wide, toothy smile would be a big enough target for Margot’s hatchet if she could manage it.

“I can't tell you what Margot has confessed to me,” Huesyth admitted, cocking an eyebrow at the other man. “But fortunately for you, I can't tell anyone.”

Mason stared blankly for a moment before another smile broke across his face, his hearty laugh echoing slightly off the walls of the barn until he cleared his throat. “Got me.”

Huesyth smiled as well, knowing full well that his eyes didn’t share the same warmth. “Even the worst of us need someone to talk to, Mason. Have you ever considered therapy for yourself?”

“Maybe I should. Can I have Carlo slaughter you a hog? A token of my appreciation for all that you do for Margot.”

Huesyth looked down at the pigs again. “Please, but I must insist on selecting my own pig. Always do.”

 

Emerging from the shadows, a magnificent shining roast pig, complete with an apple shoved in its mouth, sat atop a garlanded platter that was being pushed into the dining room by the doctor. Across from the empath, Alana followed the taller man’s movements as he entered the room with an easy smile on her face.

“Brined and roasted... a whole suckling pig,” Huesyth explained as he carved a juicy piece from the pig. “A gift from a friend.”

“A friend of yours but certainly not a friend of the pig's,” Bec commented as the piece was smoothly cut and placed delicately on Alana’s plate.

With a slight grin, Huesyth wheeled the cart over to Bec’s side of the table. “There are those who raise livestock and have a genuine affection for them. The farmer who hand-rears lambs loves them but sends them to slaughter.”

“They love and kill what they love,” Alana mused.

“And eat what they love,” The taller man completed. “It's a paradox.”

It made the empath wonder for a moment if Huesyth thought of him as his special lamb that he was rearing for slaughter. Something changed in Alana as her eyes momentarily averted from them, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat before speaking again. “Freddie Lounds thinks the two of you are a paradox. It’s as if she’s seeing something no one else sees.”

Averting his eyes from her by looking down at his plate, Bec asked in a way he hoped didn’t seem like prying. “What does she think she sees?”

He felt her eyes on him though, going between him and Huesyth, searching for answers in their reactions. “That neither of you is the killer she's writing about, but together, you might be.”

Huesyth finally took a seat at the head of the table, smoothly brushing off the insinuation as he addressed the empath. “Freddie Lounds must consider you a rather bland interview subject if she's already resorted to fiction.”

The younger man raised a displeased eyebrow at the doctor but Alana continued. “She won't be fenced in by something as malleable as the truth. Freddie has no boundaries.”

“Someone with no boundaries is usually considered a psychopath,” Bec stated as he sipped from his water. “Or a journalist.”

A silence stretched between them as they tried to enjoy their meals but the awkward air hung heavily between the three. Obviously, his comment wasn’t taken very well by her.

“Freddie isn't the only one without boundaries,” Alana finally said, looking between the two of them curiously and shrugged. “Your relationship doesn't seem to know many. Patient and therapist. Friend and enemy.”

“Crossing boundaries is different than violating them,” Huesyth explained as he met eyes with her.

Furrowing her brow a bit, Alana relented. “Boundaries will always be subject to negotiation. It's just hard to know where you are with each other.”

Bec looked up at her, cocking his head slightly as he motioned to Huesyth. “We know where we are with each other. Shouldn't that be enough?”

She still seemed so unconvinced, doubtful even but Huesyth added before sipping his wine. “Better the devil you know.”

 

An unfamiliar car was parked outside his house when he got home that day. Bec thought briefly that it may have been Sofia or her wife but the vehicle was nothing like what they’d drive. As he moved up to the porch, he found footprints in the snow that led out to his barn. Small shoes with slight heels. A pair he’s noticed before when he was in Freddie’s hotel room the other day.

With panic rising in his cut, he followed the steps to the barn doors and found the lock he usually kept on them missing. Quieting his breathing, he slipped inside the doors, working his way into the open room as he saw the shadow of Randall’s mauling suit through the plastic sheets hanging from the ceiling. The suit was pinned from a rafter and dangling like a skinned animal.

He could hear someone in the building moving around and he finally stepped around the plastic to see the industrial freezer he kept out there opened. A head of red hair poking out over the top of it but something that she saw in the freezer startled Freddie, probably the human jaw wrapped in plastic. She slammed the lid back down and was about to make a break for it before her panicked eyes landed on him. Without speaking, she immediately began digging through her bag and he took that time to step back, sliding the barn doors closed behind him to block her way out.

He could hear the sound of a revolver being cocked and decided not to step back into her line of sight, remaining behind the foggy plastic sheets. “I promise… there really is a very good explanation for all this.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Freddie snapped but her voice was shaking.

Bec could tell that she was following his shape as it moved menacingly behind the plastic. “Not even a little bit curious?”

“Get away from the door!” Freddie demanded.

Finally, the empath moved through the sheets and into her view to notice how badly Freddie was shaking. “I can't let you go, Freddie. Not till you've heard what I have to say.” Bec stepped closer still, lowering his voice as he spoke. “I know you're scared. You only have to be scared a moment longer.” Bec held a gloved hand out to her. “Give me the gun.”

He took a final step forward and Freddie fired, the sound of it piercingly loud in the confined building. Bec rolled out of her sight, under the table the mauling suit hung over and onto the other side of the room. Gathering his bearings, Bec could see a flash of movement pass him as Freddie shot for the door, stumbling out into the snowy world after pushing the doors open again.

He couldn’t let her go.  _ He couldn’t. _

Struggling to his feet, the empath managed to pull a metal bar from the floor of the barn and rush after her. The vehicle was still there and he could see her moving through the front window.

Without hesitation, he rushed over to her side when she was struggling to force her key into the ignition and slammed the bar into the driver side window. The glass bursting inwards as Freddie screamed shrilly. Bec tossed the bar, reaching into the window and violently yanking the smaller woman from it as she struggled and kicked.

 

The screams were scrambled and slightly muttered from how harsh they were until the voicemail suddenly cut off. The empath kept his eyes dead ahead, his face blanks as Jack picked up his phone again.

“Freddie Lounds left me that message three hours ago. Her cell signal is dead now. Last call was traced to the nearest phone tower in, uh, Wolf Trap, Virginia. We have her on security cameras at a gas station, filling up her car.” Jack looked between the three in front of him before landing on Bec. “Six miles from your farm.”

“Freddie was supposed to interview me,” Bec explained calmly despite the uncomfortable feeling of Alana’s eyes on him. “She never showed up.”

“Why are you granting interviews to Freddie Lounds?” Jack questioned.

“I owed her one.”

From his left side, Huesyth spoke up.” Surely, Freddie Lounds has more enemies than Bec.”

“Not in Wolf Trap, Virginia,” Jack reminded.

“I live in the middle of nowhere, Jack,” Bec relented in his defense. “If someone wanted to take her, it's... not a bad place to do it.”

 

The wax paper-wrapped package was laid on the counter along with the assortment of vegetables that he brought to prep.

“I provide the ingredients,” Bec explained to the doctor. “You tell me what we should do with them.”

“What’s the meat?” Huesyth asked.

Bec slid the package closer to the taller man. “What do you think?”

The doctor gave a quirk of a smile at that, untying the package to unfold the paper and reveal a loin of meat.

“Veal?” Huesyth questioned, leaning slightly to smell it. “Pork, perhaps?”

“She was a slim and delicate pig.”

Huesyth looked over at the empath with a grin because he knew what this was. He was proud. “I'll make you lomo saltado. We will make it together.” Sliding a knife out of the block, the doctor handed it over to Bec. “You slice the ginger.”

The empath accepted the tool and job with ease, looking down at his reflection in the polished steel blade before he began his work. Huesyth was watching him carefully now. Intently. 

It wasn’t long before Huesyth was setting a beautifully presented plate in front of him, rounding the table in order to sit across from the empath. Bec knew there was a smile on the doctor’s face when the younger man brought a forkful of the meat up to his mouth and began eating it. When he looked up again, Huesyth was staring at him like a lion lying sated and satisfied in the sun after a good hunt. He watched as the taller man took a bite himself, savoring it because he knew the taste so well. Far better then Bec did.

“The meat has an interesting flavor,” Huesyth began once he looked back up at Bec. “It's brazing. Notes of citrus.”

“My palate isn’t as refined as yours,” The empath reminded. “I’m not sure what that means.”

“Apart from humane considerations, it's more flavourful for animals to be stress-free prior to slaughter,” Huesyth took another bite to better grasp what he was trying to say. He looked up the younger man. “This animal tastes frightened.”

Bec furrowed his brow at the doctor. “What does ‘frightened’ taste like?”

“It’s acidic,” Huesyth described simply.

“The meat is bitter about being dead,” Bec joked and they shared an amused smile.

Huesyth said. “This meat is not pork.”

“It’s long pig,” Bec explained. They ate in silence in the warmth of each other’s company until Bec took a drink from his water and decided to clear the air. “You can't reduce me to... a set of influences. I'm not the product of anything. I've given up good and evil for behaviorism.”

The taller man raised an eyebrow at him. “Then you can’t say that I’m evil.”

“You’re destructive,” Bec explained. “Same thing.”

Huesyth didn’t seem to agree though. “Evil is just destructive? Storms are evil if it's that simple. And we have fire, and then there's hail. Underwriters lump it all under ‘Acts of God’. Is this meat an act of God, Bec?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	11. “Kō No Mono”

_The snow was pure in the dark forest, uniform and unadulterated until a thrashing line appeared as if something was dragging itself through it. Then the spots of blood seemed to stain the white in stark contrast, spots turning to spatter as the black snake rushed desperately through the snow. It was trying to escape. Escape something that it just couldn’t see. But a feeling overcame it, a pain, and it hissed sharply into the sky before finally collapsing to the forest floor. A long, black shape moved from the shadows in the trees._

_The wendigo, stalking forward as the snake thrashed, leaving a large crevice in the snow as it approached. All seemed to go still before an antler point pierced through the snake’s gut, from the inside. More and more points until human hands appeared, pulling at the flesh in a gush of blood until a man forced himself out from its underbelly and slid out onto the soiled snow. The new stag man laid bare against the backdrop of the frozen forest, his naked body was just as onyx as the wendigo’s but was slicked with blood and viscera._

_The new monster seemed to lie alone until his eyes flashed open and he took in a huge, gasping breath. The snake that birthed him was gone, he was by himself._

_Until he wasn’t and a heavy hand laid against his hip. He wasn’t startled when he reopened his eyes to look down and see the wendigo’s glassy eyes staring back at him. It’s long, forked tongue lulled out of its mouth and ran up the mess on his skin, over the firm bump of his stomach. It moved over him until it was on top of him and they writhed against each other, their tails coiling tightly around one another. The wendigo ran its tongue up the length of his face and he grit his teeth when it went back down to press an opened mouth kiss against his neck, fangs grazing just enough to draw a breathy moan._

_He wrapped his arms around the wendigo, nails scraping the spot where the antlers met the top of its head. Resting his hands on the wendigo’s face so that he could look into its eyes, he pulled it down to press a searing kiss against its mouth. Their tongues seemed to tangle, fangs knocking and it felt as if they were trying to swallow each other whole._

_“Tell me, Bec,” The wendigo whispered, causing a shiver to run through him. “How does it feel with my teeth so firmly in your heart?”_

_Shooting forward, it sunk its fangs into the flesh of his throat and it burned as venom seemed to be pumped into his bloodstream. But Bec let it. Let it pump him full of poison until his skin felt like it was melting away. He wrapped his arms around its neck to hold the fangs close. He ached for it-_

A soft moan slipped from the empath’s lips and Bec could feel the doctor hum around the cock in his mouth. The softness of the warm sheets would almost lull Bec back to sleep if he didn’t immediately begin bracketing Huesyth’s head between his thighs. The healing bite mark was still tender enough to send little shocks of pain through Bec’s shoulder as he arched off of the bed with every hard suck.

Those steady hands grasped his thighs to hold him still and Bec’s own hands went to Huesyth’s head, still so shy as he scratched gently across his scalp.

“Please, Huesyth…” He begged. “Oh, god, _please_.”

His pleading was rewarded as Huesyth looked up at him and started going faster, making Bec whimper and throw his head back. Bec stared at the dark ceiling as he ran a hand over the back of Huesyth’s head, playing with the short hair. Soon the breathy whimpers turned into loud moans and gasps as he clawed at the taller man’s shoulders. Huesyth smiled around his lover’s length when Bec only got louder and louder. The feeling of heat starting to build low in his stomach.

He was on the edge and all it took was Huesyth grazing the pointed tips of his canines against the sensitive skin of Bec’s cock before the empath was cumming down the doctor’s throat with a sharp whimper. Twitching and groaning as Huesyth seemed to suck him dry before popping off of a wet, obscene noise. Bec whimpered as the doctor worked his way up his body and lingered to press kisses against his chest.

“I have a surprise for you,” Huesyth whispered against the empath’s skin.

Bec scoffed softly through his heavy breathing, running his hands over any available skin of Huesyth’s. “Was this your way of waking me up because I can certainly get used to it.”

The doctor laughed softly against the younger man’s chest. “It’s getting late and you’ve been sleeping for some hours now, my darling.”

Chuckling gently, Bec patted Huesyth’s shoulder as they began to sit up in the bed. “Okay, okay. I’ll get up.”

As they pulled apart so that the doctor could leave the room, the chill of the room immediately began to set in, the loss of Huesyth’s heat was like the sudden absence of the sun. The cold only reminded him of the scene his mind conjured as he quickly got dressed.

The dream, however, still seemed so fresh in Bec’s mind. It felt so real then. The bite of the cold snow against his back, the feeling of the wendigo coiling around him and holding him close as it dragged its fangs across his onyx skin. But the words it whispered to him seemed to stick far more firmly.

Was it true? Did he really still love Huesyth? The second-hand embarrassment of the first time he told the doctor his true feelings while they were in the throes of passionate sex began to reemerge. His face began to heat up when he remembered and he buried his head in his hands.

He opened his eyes again, chest heaving slightly as he drew in a breath. The room had changed since he slipped into his mind but it took him a second to remember just where he was.

And then the doctor entered the dining room again, dressed in one of his usual fine suits with a flaming cocotte in his hands, the flames shading his face in flickering shadows and light.

“Among gourmands, the ortolan bunting is considered a rare but debauched delicacy,” Huesyth explained as he sat it between them on the table before taking a seat as well. As the fire began to flicker and die down, two thumb-sized birds were revealed where they sizzled in their own fat and flesh. “A rite of passage, if you will. Preparation called for the songbird to be drowned alive in Armagnac. It is then roasted and consumed whole in a single mouthful.”

Each of the birds resembled an oval buttered puff with the head and feet still attached, the legs were tiny sticks. Peering back up from the dish, Bec raised a brow. “You do know that ortolans are endangered, right?”

“Who amongst us is not?” Huesyth remarked.

“I don’t think I’ve been gorged, drowned, plucked, and roasted,” The empath conceded but shrugged loosely. “Not yet at least.”

“Traditionally, during this meal, we are meant to place shrouds over our heads to hide our faces from God,” But Huesyth picked up one of the birds by its head once the flames subsided enough. “Personally, I don't hide from God.”

Bec followed, picking up the second bird in the same way. He observed the roasted bird closely before matching eyes with the doctor. “Bones and all?”

“Bones and all,” Huesyth replied with a nod, keeping his eyes on Bec as the empath brought the bird up to his mouth and placed it on his tongue.

He savored the taste as the flavor exploded over his mouth, despite the crunch of the tiny bones under his teeth. Without taking his eyes off Bec, Huesyth mimicked him as he drew his bird between his teeth, blithely crushing it between his molars. His eyes slipped shut as he enjoyed and Bec could tell that they swallowed heavily at the same time.

“After my first ortolan, I was euphoric,” Huesyth explained, finally taking his eyes off the empath. “A stimulating reminder of our power over life and death.”

Face blank, Bec stared across the table at the doctor. The daydream was still so fresh in his mind. Where he was morphed and reborn in the wendigo’s image, clawing for purchase and writhing against the other beast as they curled around each other to the point where it couldn’t be distinguished who was who. He realized that that was beginning to become closer and closer to reality and though it scared him… he also felt like it was so right. That when Huesyth looked up at him like the empath is the bright stars against his night sky, it’s true. The light to his darkness that guides him somewhere better.

But he averted his eyes in shame because he knew he really couldn’t change him and added. “I was euphoric after I killed Freddie Lounds.”

“Tell me, did your heart race when you murdered her?” Huesyth asked.

The fireplace behind him was crackling softly, he focused on the feeling of the heat on his back. “No. No, it didn’t.”

Huesyth cocked his head slightly at the answer, almost seeming pleased. “A low heart rate is a true indicator of one's capacity for violence. Your design is evolving. Your choices are affecting the physical structures of your brain.”

“Killing is changing the way that I think,” Bec simplified.

“Yes,” The doctor agreed. “You must understand that blood and breath are only elements undergoing change to fuel your radiance. Just as the source of light is burning.”

 

He never really thought he’d find himself in the morgue at the B.A.U. again. But there he was, standing between Huesyth and Jack as Brian and Jimmy observed the body in front of them, burned to an unidentifiable crisp all except for the teeth. They were starkly white compared to the shriveled lips around them and Brian turned to his computer as it beeped at him. A profile appeared across the screen, flashing green with a correct match.

“Orthodontics confirmed that it's Freddie Lounds,” He revealed to them. “A little bit of kerosene and _fwoomp!_ Incendiary journalism.”

Jimmy stepped forward in order to motion with a gloved finger to the body’s blackened face. “See? No scabrous crust on her chin. She was dead before the match was ever struck.”

“Her blood already pooled to the lowest parts of her body,” Brian added by his co worker’s side. “She had been dead for at least twenty-four hours.”

Learning of their minimal discoveries, Bec raised an eyebrow to Jack. “Freddie always had a longing to be noticed. She was finally noticed.”

“Freddie Lounds's ultimate failing was her inability to keep herself out of her own stories,” The older agent concluded out loud.

“There's more to this story. Check it out,” Brian started before he and Jimmy worked together to turn the body onto its side to reveal a jagged opening on its back.

“Severely-burned bodies tend to split along lines of musculature, but that looks like an intentional incision,” Huesyth noticed, motioning to the wound pattern.

“That's right,” Brian agreed. “He cut out her psoas muscles with, uh, it looks like a hunting knife.”

“A peculiar trophy,” Huesyth commented, glancing innocently at the empath who averted his eyes.

Jack stared at the charred body before asking. “Why did he burn her?”

“How many people has Freddie Lounds burned in her career?” Brian shot back rather harshly with a shrug.

“Whoever did this was not striking out against Miss Lounds's exploitative brand of journalism. This is something else,” The doctor added and Bec could sense when it shifted to Huesyth talking specifically to him even if he was under the guise of helping. “This is something sacred.”

“Freddie Lounds had to burn,” Bec proclaimed as he observed the body. “She was just fuel. Fire destroys and it creates. She may not rise from the ashes, but her killer will.”

Huesyth stared at the empath, bemused by his boldness and enraptured by his new evolution. “He's the one to be noticed now.”

 

“There's no baby. It isn't even an embryo yet, but here I am, feeling all maternal.”

The doctor paused, mouth going into a thin line as he listened to her. “You conspired with your unborn child to liberate yourself and you made Bec your accomplice.”

Bec settled heavily back in his seat, body stiff as he could tell by the tightness in Huesyth’s shoulders that he wasn’t as happy with the news as Margot was.

“I got what I wanted from Bec…” Margot continued. “But I didn't understand what I was taking until the strip turned blue. I'm not proud of myself.”

“You don’t have to be but this is your chance to get away from him,” Bec explained, not nearly as shocked as he should’ve been. He turned to the doctor and risked asking. “Did you know?”

Huesyth raised an eyebrow at the empath. “I was aware of Margot's goal of having a child. However, I was not aware you were going to be the means of achieving it.”

He averted his eyes like he was being scolded. Bec nodded in understanding but Margot leaned down to collect her bag, standing from her seat across from Huesyth. “I don’t expect anything from you, Bec. You can offer as little or as much as you’d like to give.”

“As much as I would like to give?” The empath repeated.

“I always thought men were an optional extra in childrearing, so... I'm not opposed to a male influence in his life,” Margot explained as she turned from the men and made her way to the patient exit before stopping and turning back to them. “As long as it's not my brother. He's not good with children.”

Margot left with a shrug and not another word, the door closing heavily behind her with a resounding clatter. Her presence in the room still lingered as did the revelation. Fighting against the want to stand and crawl into Huesyth’s lap out of shame, Bec kept his eyes trained on the floor.

“Are these paternal feelings of yours that you seemed to have forgotten to share with me new or…?” Huesyth started and Bec sighed, shoulders dropping.

“It’s not what you think, Huesyth.”

“What do I think, Bec?” The taller man questioned.

He could feel the doctor’s eyes drilling into him and finally swallowed his pride to look up at the taller man. “She told me about her situation. I just wanted to help her.”

“And you felt this was the only way?” Huesyth asked.

Bec shook his head slightly. “It didn’t mean anything, Huesyth.”

“So you’d let a stranger raise your child as their own? You’ll let them go on not knowing who you even are once they’ve bloomed under someone else’s roof?”

“Huesyth, _stop_ ,” The empath demanded. “You know that wasn’t what this was.”

“What was it then, Bec?” Huesyth seethed.

With a soft disgruntled sigh, Bec stood from his chair and paced around the office. “I wanted to help her, Huesyth. That’s all. This is Margot’s child and after Mason’s gone, she won’t need either of us.”

A pause of silence stretched between them and Bec could see in his face the way that Huesyth was chewing over the words. He was trying to distinguish what was the truth and what is another betrayal. It really wasn’t a betrayal. Bec just wanted to help. That’s all he ever really wanted.

But the next question that Huesyth asked was one that Bec didn’t expect. “Would you like to have children someday?”

The empath was only a little caught off guard but recovered seamlessly, even allowing a small smile to quirk his lips. “I am… not opposed to the idea of children with you.”

Huesyth’s eyes immediately looked up at the younger man, hopeful and so pleasantly surprised before he reeled it back in. “I would certainly enjoy the experience with you.”

His smile only widened as he stepped across the room to lean down and press a gentle kiss against Huesyth’s lips.

But as they seemed to melt against each other, Bec’s eyes opened again, his face soaked with sweat while he curled into himself in his bed. Another night but this time he was haunted by flashes of Freddie’s fiery body, the resounding echo of her sharp screams only being drowned out by the sound of knocking at his front door.

He should’ve stayed with Huesyth again but he couldn’t risk someone showing up unexpectedly at his door and start snooping around. Another Freddie couldn’t be tolerated. He also knew that Huesyth was still on edge about him since Margot spoke with him. Bec would allow the doctor time to let the facts settle but he would be back.

He quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants before he made his way to the door and before even opening it, he could see Alana standing on the porch with her face pinched in concern. Her attention snapped up to him as the door opened but she kept her distance from the man as he stepped out.

The empath looked her up and down, rubbing a hand over his arm to fight off the chill. “Is this a friendly visit? We haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“No, this isn’t” Alana replied, clipped and to the point. She seemed troubled.

Sensing an ulterior motive, Bec questioned. “What kind of visit is it then?”

“I guess… I guess I'm trying to convince myself of something.”

She was staring at him more than usual like she was trying to find something written in his features that would allow her to relax again but she was struggling. Alana couldn’t find it and that was making her tense which made Bec shift from foot to foot.

Bec’s mouth closed into a thin line as he realized just what she was looking for. “You're worried I killed Freddie Lounds.”

“Did you?” Alana asked quickly once he opened the gate for her.

He didn’t answer clearly, any reply could make him seem guilty so he brought it back around to her. “What do you think?”

Something twitched uncomfortably on Alana’s face. A flash of frustration that he had seen before on his sister’s face. “I think that's the wrong answer to tell someone who is already wondering what you're capable of.”

“I told everyone that I could that Huesyth was a killer, and no one believed me. Just like no one would believe you if you said I was a killer.”

Alana seemed taken aback, his tone chilled her to the bone but she was brave, persistent. She said firmly, bordering on desperately. “I don't think Huesyth is good for you and I think your relationship is _destructive_.”

“Is Huesyth good enough for _you?_ You should be afraid...” Bec asked rudely, a jabbing remark that he softened as soon as it left his mouth and her eyes widened in surprise. “I want to give you something.”

He slipped back into his house, leaving her confused and scared on the porch before he returned brandishing a handgun. Alana immediately took a few steps back, away from the empath as he approached her but he held the gun out to her. Bec didn’t move any closer, leaving enough room for her to approach only if she wanted to.

“Whoever you are afraid of... don't be afraid to use it. It takes nine-millimeter rounds. Buy a box... find a range…” Bec placed the grip of the weapon in her hand before drawing back. “Practice, please.”

And he turned, going back into his house and sliding the door shut behind him, leaving Alana alone in the cold with the handgun.

 

“I would like to tell you about camp.”

Motioning to the chair before him, Huesyth took his seat in his usual chair but his new unruly patient walking passed the usual spot, shedding his jacket and tossing it across the chaise lounge.

“It was a wonderful childhood experience that keeps coming back to me. Papa paid for the whole thing, every summer, all one hundred and twenty-five campers on Lake Michigan.”

Huesyth leaned back in his chair with his legs crossed. “Your father was a generous man.”

“I've continued his charitable work today. Most of the campers are unfortunates who will do anything for a candy bar,” Mason laughed boisterously and a figure moved out of the corner of the doctor’s eye. The imaginary figure of Bec was back, his scarce amount of clothes were noticeably a few shades darker. The color of dried blood.

He leaned his hip against the edge of Huesyth’s desk as he observed the two while Mason continued. “Maybe I took advantage. Maybe I was rough with them. I'm not holding anything back. It's all okay. I got a walk on the charges.”

“What was your penance?” Huesyth asked.

“I got five hundred hours of community service,” Mason explained sitting up slightly on his side to adjust his glasses. “I worked at the dog pound and I received some court-ordered therapy.”

Huesyth nodded and the figment in the room stepped forward, the flowing tail of his sheer robe leaving a trail behind him as he leaned against the back of Huesyth’s chair, his hands resting gently on the doctor’s shoulders. “ **_He’s certainly a vicious man, Huesyth. You could tell the first time you met him._ **”

Unstable and painfully narcissistic maybe but not violent. Not yet. But Huesyth saw the extent of Margot’s injuries and he knew they weren’t the only ones the young woman possessed. Without responding to the fake Bec, the doctor continued. “Was therapy helpful?”

“I got the doctor involved in something unethical, so he'd cut me some slack.”

The figment stared at the Verger heir, unimpressed. He moved to kneel by the arm of the doctor’s chair that was farther away from Mason and gazed up at the taller man, walking his fingers along the rest. “ **_You’d better hope when he tries to incriminate you that you have a lovely little alibi in your bed just in case._ **”

“That's not helpful,” Huesyth stated as Mason laid back.

“Papa called it ‘altruistic punishment’.”

“Mason,” Huesyth called gently, motioning to the chair in front of him again when the man looked up at him. “Please.”

“Oh,” Mason replied, standing up, straightening his vest and sitting heavily down in front of the doctor.

Huesyth stared at the crumpled jacket he left on the chaise lounge and furrowed his brow slightly. “ **_You never minded when_ ** **he** **_left stuff on the lounge,_ **” The figment whispered, moving to sit on the arm of Huesyth’s chair.

“Papa was a prodigy in the field of meat, but his real genius was for human nature,” Mason explained. “He could look at a man... and see his weakness.”

Fathers supposedly have a knack for that but the only weakness his own father found in him was childish innocence and was quick to snuff it out.

“ **_Now you’re cold and calculating, much like a machine would be, hmm?_ **”

Huesyth lowered his eyes at the imaginary man’s words, his own insecurities leaking through his figments, but raised a brow at the patient in front of him. “Your father is dead. A boy's illusions are no basis for a man's life, Mason. Margot is the only family you have left.”

Mason sighed, leaning forward in his chair to run unsteady hands through his hair before sitting back up. “My sister loves me, Dr. Cavalli. She has to or she's destitute.”

“Vergers are noted expansionists.”

“And _I_ am the sole Verger heir,” Mason reminded, sitting back proudly in his chair.

“ **_Except for the fact that she’s carrying_ ** **his** **_child, whether he wants to admit it or not. Do you really think he’ll just forget his own baby no matter who the other parent is?_ ** ” Mind Bec turned to face the doctor, a Cheshire smile stretching over his face as he crossed his legs over the taller man’s lap. “ **_He’ll leave you for a chance at having a normal life with his_ ** **actual** **_child and some rich woman. You know given the chance he would. You must stop this, Huesyth… before she takes him._ **”

Huesyth narrowed his eyes, whether it be at the younger man’s arrogance or at the figment’s whispers he doesn’t know but he did. “Unless biology provides another.”

 

The group of figures all dressed in black were stark against the grays and whites of the snow-covered cemetery around them. An intimate group of mourners comprised of family and friends all faced towards the priest as he spoke over a gravestone etched with the name ‘Lounds’, a commemorative wreath hung around it.

He knew he shouldn’t have been there but he found who he was looking for when he looked beyond Freddie’s funeral and found Alana, standing a dozen feet away as if shadowing the mourners.

She looked less than pleased as Bec approached her and came to a standstill by her side, turning away from him and back to the funeral. “I'm here to mourn Freddie Lounds. Can't imagine that's why you're here.

“There are all sorts of reasons why I'd go to Freddie Lounds's funeral,” Bec explained. “It's common for a killer to revisit their victims after death, attend funerals, return to crime scenes.”

He felt her eyeing him, obviously not amused by his attempt at an offensive joke. But she asked. “Anyone suspicious?”

“Besides me?”

“That was implied.”

“You were expecting me,” Bec stated.

Narrowing her eyes, Alana repeated as she turned away. “It's common for a killer to revisit their victims after death.”

“I'm not here to dance on Freddie Lounds's grave if that's what you're expecting,” The empath scoffed.

“You're not here looking for her killer, either,” Alana cut in. “You certainly don't seem particularly interested in the crowd.”

“Are you profiling me, Dr. Bloom?” Bec questioned and they finally met eyes. She didn’t answer him, keeping her face as stoic as she could while the empath continued. “I'm here because... my psychiatrist suggested it would be therapeutic.”

Despite her obvious mistrust of the empath, Alana seemed to believe him. As one, the mourners began to disperse from the gravesite after the priest stopped speaking and Alana started after them. She continued away through the cold without looking back at him.

 

The ice was becoming dangerous as the winter months grew more away from the cheerful aesthetic of the holidays and more into the doom and gloom of the frigid months. Sidewalks were slick and roadsides were usually piled high with snow but that didn’t put a damper on the young girl’s spirit. Her small body was puffed up with layers of warm clothes as her small gloved hands clutched at the clean snow and tossed it into the air to rain back down onto her. A toothy smile broke across her face as she giggled with joy and Sofia couldn’t help but smile as well as she observed.

They’d been out in their yard playing with the snow as they waited for Bianca to return home from work and Sofia checked her watch to realize that it had been longer than she expected.

She rose from her sitting position on the porch steps and went to her daughter’s side, crouching down next to her to feel the preschooler’s reddened cheeks.

“You're getting cold, honey,” Sofia said, reaching down to hold Avery’s hand. “Let’s go inside and wait for mom.”

“Okay, mama,” Avery exclaimed.

They began making their way up to the porch steps when the sound of tires on the gravel of their driveway. Sofia looks up, hopeful to see her wife’s car pulling up but instead it was an unfamiliar vehicle that had Sofia furrowing her brow.

Returning her attention to her daughter, Sofia’s hand clenched tighter on the young girl’s. “Come on, baby.”

She began climbing the stairs again, scooping up Avery to sit her up on the porch next to the door before a voice called out to her. “Ms. Crow?”

Sofia looked up at the sound of her name and found Dr. Bloom in her driveway.

“Oh absolutely not,” Sofia snapped, pointing back down the road. “Get off my property.”

“Ms. Crow, please this has nothing to do with me,” Alana begged, holding up her gloved hands in mock surrender.

Sofia was unconvinced. “I’ve had it with you people coming around my family. Stay away from us.”

“Ms. Crow, I think your brother is in far more trouble than he realizes,” Bloom began again but Sofia wasn’t listening, about to enter her home again when the other woman called out. “He’s started his therapy with Dr. Cavalli again.”

Sofia paused, hand hesitating on the doorknob at the mention of her brother. The door swung open and she led the little girl in. “Go inside, Avery…” Sofia looked back up at the doctor once her daughter was safe, crossing the yard to stand in front of the other woman. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you think you know?”

Moments later, uncertain and fidgety, Alana sat on the sofa in the living room, wringing her hands in her lap as she twisted her gloves but she gazed around the warm, cozy house. “You have a beautiful home, Ms. Crow.”

“Call me Sofia,” The other woman replied, tossing her heavy jacket over the back of the other couch after making sure Avery was happy with her crayon set. “Ms. Crow makes me sound old.”

Nodding slightly, Alana looked up at the mantle and the many photos lined up across the stained wood. “How did you and your wife meet?”

Curious over what spawned the question, Sofia peered over at the picture Alana was looking at and found their wedding photo.

“A.A. meetings. I liked to party a little too much when I was younger and Bianca’s whole family was known for their drinking abilities. We became each other’s rocks and haven’t touched a drink since.” The smile that had grown across Sofia’s face at the memories slowly withered as she returned her attention to the present. She sat across from the doctor on the opposite couch, crossing her hands over her chest. “You didn't come all this way to ask about my wife and me.”

Though Alana hesitated at the sudden shift in mood, she replied smoothly. “No… no, I didn’t.”

“Does Bec know that you’re doing this?” Sofia asked.

With a heavy sigh, Alana relented. “He doesn’t.”

“Why are you here?” Sofia questioned, narrowing her eyes.

Alana appeared as if she didn’t even want to share her reason, almost sickened by the thought, but she continued. “I’m worried about what Bec has been doing since getting out of the hospital.”

“You said that he started up his therapy with that quack again?” Sofia remembered.

“He did. Has he spoke to you at all about any of this?”

Sofia scoffed softly, amused by the notion. “He hasn’t talked to anybody since getting out. I felt like he needed his space to think about things so I let him be.”

Shamefully, Alana averted her eyes. “I think you may have given him too much space.”

Sofia narrowed her eyes at the other woman before raising an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Have you heard about the death of Freddie Lounds?” Alana asked.

“Freddie Lounds?” Sofia repeated. “Isn’t that the red-headed reporter that trashed Bec in the press during his trial? Can’t say I really feel bad for her.”

“A woman is _dead_ , Sofia.” The doctor deadpanned but Sofia shrugged.

“I work in a funeral home, Dr. Bloom. There’s a dead woman on my slab every other week. You don’t have time to be sad for them all even if you want to.”

Alana’s shoulders seemed to slump under her jacket. “Freddie Lounds died mysteriously, suddenly, and the last call she made came from your brother’s town. There was camera footage placing her only a few miles from his house.”

Growing more and more silent the longer the doctor continued, Sofia furrowed her brow at the other woman once she finished. “What exactly are you trying to say, Dr. Bloom? That Bec murdered that woman?”

“I-I don’t know what I’m saying but I just…” Alana trailed off as soon as the front door opened loudly.

A clatter of a ring of keys being placed in the bowl by the door. “Jesus… I hope you didn’t have to go anywhere today, babe. The roads are iced up bad.”

Rounding the corner to enter the living room, Bianca paused in her steps, behind Alana, when she noticed the top of an unfamiliar head. The doctor turned to face the other woman and Sofia leaned back in her seat.

“Hey, hon. You remember Dr. Bloom?”

Alana seemed ready for any kind of reaction from the new face, she’d been turned down by plenty of Bec’s family and friends at that point, but Bianca just raised an eyebrow at the woman before rounding the couch to press a kiss to Sofia’s forehead.

“Didn’t know we were having a meeting,” Bianca commented.

Sofia’s lips quirked in a smile at her wife. “It wasn’t planned, trust me.”

“Mom!” Avery shouted from the dining room, waving excitedly at her other mother to gain her attention.

“Hi, baby!” Bianca replied as she left Sofia’s side to join their daughter at the table.

Sofia watched over the back of the couch as Avery showed Bianca the drawing she was doing and her wife smiled big at the art. It reminded her that she already had her perfect family but Bec seemed to want to destroy his by going back with that doctor of his. That man was a plague to her family.

At that moment, she remembered the fear in Amaund’s eyes when he rushed into her house in the middle of the night and shoved all of his things into his bag and left without a single explanation. The look on his face though made it seem as if he was running from something… something or someone. He disappeared into the night and hadn’t called since.

The joy slipped from her face again. Sofia looked up at the doctor in front of her and muttered. “I’ll talk to him, Alana. I’ll see what he’s been doing.”

The doctor seemed relieved at that, nodding repetitively. “Thank you.”

 

As night settled comfortably over them, the office became dark but for once the shadows didn’t unease the empath as he sat next to the doctor’s desk, legs crossed as he denied Huesyth’s offer of a drink. He just wanted to talk. They _needed_ to talk.

“I've been so preoccupied with taking a life that I'm, uh... having trouble wrapping my head around making one.”

“When men become fathers, they undergo biochemical changes that affect the way they think,” Huesyth explained, as clinical as always which made Bec scoff.

Those biochemical changes made Bec stupid and somewhat rabid with the need to protect. He was sure that Huesyth would be the same if he knew.

“You said the same thing happens when men become killers.”

“Fathers can be killers. Anyone can be,” Huesyth said surely and he had no idea how right he was. “What sort of father do you think you would you be?”

The question made Bec pause as he reflected on it, imagining another life where he never went to prison, never had encephalitis. Another life where Huesyth never picked up the knife and became the monster in sheep's clothing that he was. Maybe they would’ve met at a criminal psychology conference. Maybe they would’ve fallen for each other’s brilliant minds in the same way that they fell in love with the blood and they would’ve had the twins after a night of passionate love. They would’ve wanted to have them, it would’ve been far more planned than it was.

Two beautiful children with Bec’s coiling dark hair and Huesyth’s eyes and face shape, they would smile up at him and Bec would be happy. Proud of what they’ve created together.

They would be odd but not dangerous. Not covered in blood and gore and creating sculptures out of bodies. Their babies would be safe with them.

Averting his eyes, Bec finally replied. “I would be a good father.”

Huesyth smiled warmly. “How quickly we form attachments to something that doesn’t even exist yet.”

As casually as he could, Bec laid an arm across the front of his stomach. He was attached but he wasn’t telling Huesyth that. “I'm not attached. I'm... I'm only... anticipating the feeling of attachment.”

“We have a deep-seated need to interact with our children. It helps us discover our true selves.”

“Have you ever been a father?” Bec asked.

Huesyth hesitated, it was his turn to avert his eyes briefly. “I never had to be but my brother was far more of a father to me than the one who had us. I was not his child but I was his charge. He has taught me so much about myself… as did my mother.”

Bec remembered what Amaund had told him about Huesyth’s mother, suicide by overdose to escape her abusive husband but leaving behind two children.

“I think Abigail would’ve liked Delmar.”

That seemed to derail Bec’s train of thought, almost sobering him to just who he was sitting in front of as he muttered softly. “Then why did you kill her?”

Huesyth didn’t look back up at the empath. “What happened to Abigail had to happen. There was no other way.”

“There was,” Bec denied firmly. “But there isn't now.”

Eyes snapping up to meet the younger man’s, Huesyth asked. “Would you protect this child in the way you couldn't protect Abigail?”

He knew that Huesyth was asking about the child with Margot but he couldn’t help the way his hand clutched at his side, bundling up a part of his sweater. He would do anything for these children even if it meant they never saw Huesyth. If he could protect them from the same fate as Abigail than he would.

“I still dream about Abigail,” Bec told instead of answering, eyes beginning to water. “I dream that I'm... teaching her ballet.”

“I'm sorry... I took that from you,” Huesyth apologized softly and he sounded sincere, raw even like Bec had exposed a nerve. “I wish I could give it back.”

With a halfhearted shrug, Bec replied. “So do I.”

An unsteady exhale managed to slip from Bec’s lips as his throat tightened on a sob he kept buried, trying his best to wipe at his eyes without giving away just how broken he was.

“Occasionally, I drop a teacup to shatter on the floor, on purpose,” Huesyth started again. “I'm not satisfied when it doesn't gather itself up again. Someday perhaps, a cup will come together.”

 _It never will_ , Bec thought cynically, _what we shattered is shattered forever._

 

The burned body, dug out of its fresh grave and displayed on its stone, was erected from the snow with multiple arms, all reaching up to the heavens as if to cup the moon.

“Extra parts were harvested on-site,” Brian told, shining his flashlight over the body as Bec watched silently.

Jimmy quipped. “Just one night in the ground, that beats Jesus by forty-eight hours.”

“Never thought Freddie Lounds would make it to heaven, much less get deified.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bec saw two figures enter the crime scene as well but the female doctor met eyes with the empath for only a brief second before turning away to face the body.

“This killer is trying to get somebody's attention,” Jack stated.

“He has direction,” Alana noticed.”His chaos is getting more orderly.”

“So first, he burns effigies, and now he's assembling them.”

Alana added. “Burning Freddie Lounds wasn't his first effigy. Whoever killed Freddie killed Randall Tier, mutilated him, dismembered him, and put him on display.”

“Randall Tier and Freddie Lounds have a connection.”

“Bec,” Alana named and the empath looked up at the mention of his name which made her puff up slightly. He crossed the space between them and stood before the two as Alana continued. “Randall Tier was his suspect and Huesyth's patient, and Freddie Lounds was investigating his murder when she died.”

The empath finally piped up in his defense. “Freddie Lounds was investigating a lot of things when she died.”

“This psychopath was incubating fantasies about killing and is building himself up. Or someone's building him up.”

Bec decided that there was no point in defending himself to her, she believed in what she believed and decided to play into the truth behind her profile. “He has a benefactor who admires his destruction. Shiva is both destroyer and benefactor.”

“He’s being guided,” Alana expressed.

Jack couldn’t take his eyes off of the multiple armed Freddie as he asked. “Is this some kind of signpost?”

Alana explained. “Maybe Freddie's killer didn't do this... maybe his benefactor did.”

“Why?”

From over his shoulder, Bec looked back at them as the dawning realization finally hit Alana. “It's a courtship.”

Alana watched Bec intently then, determined.

 

The next day, the empath found himself in his usual seat in Huesyth’s office. The more time he spent there, the more he felt at ease within its dark walls but something had been nagging him through the night. He had been wondering just how right Alana was about their courtship.

“Every creative act has its destructive consequence, Bec,” Huesyth explained. “The Hindu god Shiva is simultaneous destroyer and creator. Who you were yesterday is laid waste to give rise to who you are today.”

The empath studied the taller man across from him. “How many lies have had to be… sanctified? How many consciences... devastated?”

“As many as were necessary,” Huesyth replied smoothly.

“You sacrificed Abigail. You cared about her as much as I did.”

Bec could see the doctor furrow his brow slightly. “Maybe more. But then, how much has God sacrificed?”

No god that Bec had ever known was as vengeful and bloodthirsty as the doctor was. No religion could ever accurately depict the devastation laid waste to Bec’s life and heart at Huesyth’s hands. The empath narrowed his eyes at the doctor, his mouth a thin questioning line as he asked. “What god do you pray to?”

Huesyth eyed the younger man as if the answer was obvious and maybe it really was considering the doctor’s past. “I don't pray. I have not been bothered by any considerations of deity, other than to recognize how my own modest actions pale beside those of God.”

“I prayed... I would see Abigail again,” Bec revealed. A fact he never really even admitted to himself before that moment. Praying was never something he found comfort in considering he talked to himself too much anyway.

“Well, your prayer did not go entirely unanswered. You saw part of her,” Huesyth reminded and Bec fought down the urge to gag at the memory of that tube being forced down his throat along with that severed ear. It was a chilling reminder. “Bec... should the universe contract, should time reverse and teacups come together... a place could be made for Abigail in your world.”

“What place would that be?”

“You've lost a child, Bec. It seems you're likely to gain one.” A shadow moving along the wall behind the doctor drew the empath’s attention away from Huesyth, it was the willowy look of the wendigo’s antlers. “God is unmatched in wanton malice... and in His irony.”

Turning to face whatever was casting that shadow, Bec found the wendigo transformed before him, silhouetted by the windows and doubled in size with its tail coiled underneath itself. It raised its arms to reveal four on each side like Freddie’s body, a fan of eight stretching out from its sides.

 

Mason mumbled to himself, his hands holding the armrests of the chair with an almost white-knuckled grip before he turned his attention back to the doctor. “I remember walking the swine fairs with my father, looking over the competition. Papa's little silver knife ever ready to slip out of his waistcoat and stick into the back of a pig to check the depth of fat.”

“ **_He had an even more traumatizing childhood than you did, my dear._ **”

A soft breath managed to escape Huesyth’s nose at the figment’s taunts and that only prompted the affectionate imaginary Bec to burrow closer into the doctor’s lap. “Your education was a rather unconventional one.”

Another unrestrained laugh from the heir. “Oh, those were good, funny times. Papa would stab 4-H show pigs who thought everyone was their friend, scrubbed in milk and baby powder. Such coddled little things.”

With a demented sound to mimic the cutting of flesh, Mason brought his hand down in a stabbing position. Curling his lip in blatant disgust, mind Bec commented. “ **_Someone didn’t get enough kisses from mommy and daddy._ **”

“Part of a show pig's consideration is its happiness,” Huesyth reminded.

Mason snorted at the thought, shaking his head. “If we were truly considerate of a pig's happiness... then we wouldn't eat them.”

“How about Margot's happiness?” Huesyth questioned.

A sick little thin-lipped grin pulled at the corners of the heir’s mouth. “Papa taught me how to stick the knife in only as deep as necessary to test the thickness of her skin.”

With a scoff, the imaginary Bec tsked softly at the other’s man’s arrogance. “You miscalculated... you struck a nerve.”

“Margot would love to stick a knife into me, and it wouldn't be to test the thickness of my skin.”

“ **_I’d love to stick several knives into him,_ ** ” The figment expressed. “ **_Maybe we should, love. Your scalpel is just over on the desk._ **”

Brushing off the thought as quickly as it came, the doctor continued. “She tried to kill you once already.”

“‘To a male heir confirmed as my descendant…’” Mason repeated, dragging off his glasses to run a hand over his eyes. “It's a very clever loophole she's found in Papa's will. Clearly, he did not take into account how resourceful she is.”

“Neither did you.”

Mason slid his glasses back into place on his face. “I can be resourceful too. If she's not pregnant, she will be. Margot's very tenacious that way.”

“This child would be a Verger. You would have an heir to carry on the family name, to carry on your name.”

“I'd have an heir... only if I die.” As Mason finished, he scoffed loudly like the very thought was just a big joke to him and mind Bec growled softly.

 

It wasn’t long after Mason finally departed his office that Alana had shown up in his waiting room. She had lingered momentarily in the center of the room as Huesyth retrieved her a glass of wine from his cabinet before taking a seat on the chaise lounge. He returned to her, offering the drink which gladly accepted, and sat beside her.

But for once, his imaginary vixen hadn’t vanished upon Mason’s exit. He lingered around in the shadows of the office, playing idly with the curtains behind them.

“One observes only things which are already on the mind,” Huesyth began as he turned to Alana. “What's on your mind?”

She sighed softly with a gentle shake of her head. “I'm feeling pressure to believe something I don't trust, and that pressure is making me paranoid.”

“Who's pressuring you?” Huesyth asked.

“Bec,” Alana replied simply. At that moment, Huesyth felt the imaginary image of the empath run a teasing hand over the back of his shoulders as he crossed behind the doctor, lingering there. “Do you feel like you're helping him? Making progress?”

He felt mind Bec’s on him from behind, observing him from above and strangely silent. Worryingly silent. “Bec is finally finding himself. He's getting better.”

Alana seemed like she wanted to believe him but couldn’t find it in her self to do it. “Doesn't seem to be getting better.”

“Are you questioning my therapy?” Huesyth accused, good-naturedly as colleagues do.

“I'm questioning everything. It's all blurry and subjective. I feel empty. Like I've given blood.”

He reached out to her, grasping her hand in his lightly. Providing a grounding weight to pull her away from the edge she was toeing. “Alana, you've given more than blood.”

As she smiled and pulled away to stand, a scent seemed to linger. Something familiar. He showed her out politely but as soon as the door closed behind her, he lifted that hand to his face and sniffed.

The bite of metal and gunpowder lingered like a fresh burn into the flesh of his palm. The only reason it was familiar was that he had smelled it on Bec before. On the day he killed Garret Jacob Hobbs and he was covered in the powder and blood and Huesyth had held him under his hands like a frightened baby bird and cleaned him the best he could.

“ **_She’s paranoid._ **”

Huesyth couldn’t help but flinch at the sound of Bec’s voice. “She doesn’t know anything.”

“ **_Liar,_ ** ” Mind Bec hissed at him. “ **_You don’t really believe that, do you?_ **”

“No one will believe her if she tries to accuse me.”

Who was the doctor really trying to convince of that? He knew that he was just talking to himself in an empty office but the figment grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn and face the shorter man’s burning eyes.

“ ** _She’ll ruin us, Huesyth!_** ” The figment raved. “ ** _You can’t be that stupidly naive!_** ”

“She _won’t_ ,” Huesyth said again, more firmly and mind Bec threw his arms up in the air before crossing them with a huff over his chest. “You really have that little faith in me?”

“ **_Oh, most definitely,_ ** ” Mind Bec replied darkly. “ **_I think you're weak for the material. I think you’re weak for the little game you think you’re winning with the FBI and I think…_ ** ” He drew closer, faster than a normal person could move and wretched Huesyth down to his size so that his lips could nearly press against the doctor’s ear. “ **_You’re weak… for_ ** **him** **_. That will kill you, Huesyth. He_ ** **will** **_kill you._ **”

The presence disappeared and Huesyth nearly fell forward when the hands disappeared from the front of his shirt as if there was an actual being in front of him.

 

He didn’t really know why he still listened to Huesyth. In the back of his mind, Delmar probably thought that his little brother was smarter than him but really he just didn’t want to admit that they were both lost in the dark together.

When Amaund stopped answering his phone after Huesyth’s visit, Delmar was angry. Rightfully so since he knew his brother must have had something to do with it. But Huesyth feigned ignorance and Delmar let it slide again despite the bad taste in his mouth that it left behind.

He should have punched his brother’s teeth out.

He should have done a lot of things but instead, he was talked into bringing a bag of clothes to some far off house. For some reason, he didn’t really ask why because he knew Huesyth wouldn’t have told him.

Delmar’s car door shut heavily behind him, bag clutched in his hand as he made his way up to the front door of the angular, cliffside house. It was horribly modern in design, all sleek angles with veins of white panels running between huge floor to ceiling windows. It looked out over the bluff and into the deep dark Atlantic ocean where a chilly, salty breeze was emanating from. The sky was turning a light shade of grey, threatening a storm.

When he made it to the door, he reached up as tall as he could and just barely felt the outline of the front door key that Huesyth had told him about. He had to knock it off the doorframe, reaching down to pick it back up before using it.

The inside was just as obnoxious as the outside by Delmar’s standards. He never could live comfortably with that many windows though even with all the dark interior accents to take away from the starkness of the white.

He set the clothes aside on the kitchen island without much fanfare, reaching to his pocket so he could text Huesyth and tell him his little errand was done. But, out of the corner of his eye, Delmar saw something dark shift against one of the light colored walls.

In a flash, something was coming at him with a shout and he whipped around to grab the wrist of a hand coming towards his face. In that hand was some kind of kitchen knife but he quickly hit the hand against the countertop to knock the blade aside before he pushed the young woman away.

The dark haired woman collapsed onto the floor but she was quickly scrambling up again before he could hold his hands out in defeat and declare. “Hey! Hey! Huesyth sent me!”

The woman paused, half on the floor and half crouched as she stared at him with the widest blue eyes he had ever seen in his life. She was panting heavily out of what could have been a blend of adrenaline and fear but she swallowed heavily. “He didn’t say anyone was coming.”

Delmar gave a slight shrug. “How often does he tell you things beforehand?”

For a moment, she still looked skittish as she pulled herself up to properly stand, looking as if she was about to make a run for it at the drop of a hat. He tried to keep a distance between them, enough that she wouldn’t feel the need to go reaching for the knife that had clattered across the counter.

“Um, my name is Delmar, by the way,” He introduced carefully. “I’m Huesyth’s older brother.”

That seemed to clear the tinge of fear still lingering on her face and he felt the weight on his shoulders slip away. “You’re his brother?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Delmar nodded quickly, finally letting his arms fall to his sides. “He, uh… He sent me to give you some new clothes.”

He pushed the bag on the counter closer to her and she only spared it a glance before going back to him. “Why you? He’s never sent someone else before.”

Delmar offered her a shrug. “He didn’t say why. Just that he was busy… Can’t really blame him considering all he’s been trying to do but still.”

Her eyes went back to the bag and she carefully stepped forward to pick it up before returning to her spot against the wall to the hallway that would probably lead to the bedrooms. She dug through it, testing the fabrics and the pieces that Huesyth had bought for her. But then she pushed her dark hair back over her shoulder and revealed the pale scar running across the side of her neck. Something in Delmar’s mind clicked into place and he cocked an eyebrow at her.

“You’re Abigail Hobbs, aren’t you?”

Her eyes shot back up to him and he couldn’t help but think of a doe in the headlights. “H-He didn’t tell you?”

“He doesn’t tell me much obviously,” Delmar expressed calmly. “But I definitely thought he killed you.”

“The… The papers said-” “It doesn’t matter what the papers said. I know my brother.”

Abigail shifted from foot to foot before sitting the bag aside on the floor. “I… I, um.”

“It’s okay, Abigail. I don’t blame you for him being crazy.”

“How do you know about me if he didn’t tell you?” Abigail questioned.

Delmar leaned casually against the counter. “Well every now and again I’ll leave my cave long enough to check the news and your face and name has definitely been plastered everywhere.” She looked away again and there was something almost akin to shame lingering in her features. “I just… hope you weren’t too close to the guy that took the fall for it.”

“Not really but that doesn’t mean it was any easier,” Abigail explained.

“Right, of course. Obviously.” Delmar nodded and Abigail narrowed her eyes at him questioningly.

“You really don’t get out much, do you?”

With a soft snort, Delmar offered as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans when he didn’t know what else to do with them. “I’m actually really good at talking to people but I don’t know what to say to someone who is effectively a ghost.”

She averted her eyes again and rubbed at her opposite arm, tugging at her long sleeve. He finally turned away from her, trusting that she wouldn’t go for the knife again, and his gaze landed on the ornate grand piano in the living room. It was near one of the large windows, a dark silhouette against the pale gray sky behind it. Delmar noticeably perked up at the sight.

“Of course he’d have some kind of instrument in his safe house,” He joked, moving over towards the piano. He raised the lid of it and revealed the crisp white and black keys that were in near perfect condition. “Oh, this is one of the nice ones.”

“Do… Do you play too?” Abigail asked from behind him. He didn’t miss how much better she sounded when she wasn’t talking about herself or her situation.

Delmar gave a shrug without turning back to her because he was too busy beaming. “I used to when I was younger. My mom, though she was good. Good enough that she could have been professional but instead she married my dad. Taught me everything she knew and I went on to beat people up for a living.” Finally, he looked back to the young woman. “Has Hue played for you?”

She seemed a little taken aback, even offering a little disbelieving laugh. “No. He’s barely here.”

He wasn’t even a little bit surprised but he was disappointed. “Ah, that’s a shame. He’s good too _but_ I will take full credit for it considering I taught him.”

“Really?” Abigail questioned and the grin that came over her face was almost worth getting nearly stabbed.

“Yep,” Delmar replied, popping the ‘p’. “Our uncle had a piano in his first manor and when I wasn’t working, I’d show him so music pieces and we’d work on them. Granted, he was much older than when I started but he got the hang of it.”

“It just… Huesyth never seemed like the kind of person who’d take lessons from people,” Abigail explained. “He’s more like the guy who would go sit alone in a corner and learn it himself.”

Delmar gave a short laugh. “Huesyth isn’t nearly as much of a troubled genius as he makes himself out to be.”

That made her laugh, a real genuine one that the corners of her eyes crinkling, and Delmar thought it was probably the most successful he’d ever felt. He smiled back at her as her laughter dissolved and then said. “I can teach you some keys some time if you’d like, you know? I’m sure Huesyth wouldn’t mind you actually having someone to talk to besides the walls.”

Another happy chuckle from the young woman. “I don’t think I’ll be good at it.”

“Hey, Hue sucked when he started,” Delmar tried to remedy. “Everyone sucks when they start. You just gotta keep trying.”

But then Abigail went quiet and his smile dropped when he thought he said something wrong. She waved a dismissive hand. “No, no. You’re right. I’ll, um… I’ll I have to take you up on that.”

“Maybe when things are calmer?”

Abigail nodded. “Yeah. Maybe when things are calmer.”

 

The steady beeping of the heart monitor attached to Margot was the only sound in the room. He shouldn’t be there. He had no reason to be and if anyone asked then he wouldn’t have a real answer for it.

But he had to make sure it was real. That Mason really had gone and tore out any chance of Margot getting that saving heir that would free her from his torment once and for all. His eyes lingered on the cuts on the left side of her face, bruising already darkening from the supposed car crash.

He felt a presence stop at his side and Bec didn’t have to look up to know that it was Huesyth, staring at the side of his head. He knew he was waiting for a reaction but he wouldn’t be giving him one. Huesyth knew what Bec was going to do. He probably predicted it before the empath did.

Bec turned and left the hospital room without another word.

 

The sounds of loud music and pigs squealing made entering the barn far easier than it should have been but the noise soon made his head pound. He lifted the remote he’d found on the outside guard up to the speakers and the music abruptly shut off.

“Carlo?” A voice up on the platform questioned and Bec’s shoulders immediately tensed. “Carlo, I don't think they've had enough to…”

As Bec approached the back of an armchair positioned on the platform, Mason Verger himself leaned out from behind it. The other man’s face immediately dropping at the sight of him but he stood and squinted his eyes at empath. “You must be the baby daddy. Excuse me if I don't offer you a cigar.”

A fist landed square in the center of Mason’s face, bloodying his nose almost immediately. Recovering from the punch, Mason touched the blood and examined it on his glove before licking it off the leather. He laughed again as he wiped a hand over his face. “I'm gonna feed you to my pigs.”

But Bec violently grabbed Mason by the scruff of his collar and drug him over to the edge of the pen to dangle him just barely over the side for the hungry pigs below. The heir though just kept laughing, thrashing in Bec’s grip and gripping the sleeves of the empath’s jacket.

“Do you think it was Margot's idea to have an heir?” Bec growled into Mason’s face. “You think it was your idea to take it from her? My idea to come here and kill you? The only thing that you, your sister, and I have in common is the same psychiatrist.”

Yanking him up, Mason was thrown hard back onto the metal panel of the platform. The heir gathered his wits and no doubt anticipating having Bec thrown into the pig pen before he stood and turned and had the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead with a noticeable click.

A wheeze of a laugh exited the taller man as Bec tipped his head at him. “If Dr. Cavalli had his druthers... you'd be wrapped around a bullet right now.”

He should’ve pulled the trigger and thrown Mason’s body into the pen. He knew all that he should’ve done but instead, his gun clicked again as it was uncocked and he tucked it back into its holster at his side. Mason looked as confused as one would expect.

“Dr. Cavalli is the one you want to be feeding to your pigs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	12. “Tome-wan”

“Can you explain my actions?” The empath asked. Within the lurking shadows of Huesyth’s office, he always felt like he could press his luck more than usual. “Can you hypothesize my intentions? What would be your working theory of my mind?”

“I have an understanding of your state of mind. You understand mine. We're just alike. This gives you the capacity to deceive me... and be deceived by me.”

Bec shook his head slightly at the taller man’s worries. “I'm not deceiving you, Dr. Cavalli. I'm just pointing out the snare that’s found its way around your neck. What you do about it is entirely up to you.”

“You put the snare around my neck.” Huesyth seemed unconvinced, skeptical. “Why did you tell Mason Verger I want to kill him?”

_ Because it was the truth _ , Bec wanted to say but instead, he answered the way he knew Huesyth would answer in that situation. “I was curious about what would happen, what he would do in response. But it's true, isn't it? You do want to kill him or at least you want me to kill him. Either way, you'd like him dead. I'm just... giving you a little nudge.”

He could see Huesyth make a face ever so carefully as if he thought about the Verger heir a second too long. “Mason is discourteous and discourtesy is  _ unspeakably _ ugly to me.”

Bec raised a curious eyebrow at the doctor. “Are you thinking about eating him?”

“Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude,” Huesyth explained with a slight shrug.

“Free-range rude,” Bec jested.

It gained the slightest quirk of the other man’s lips but the doctor seemed to be studying him with a curious glint in his eye. “Would you join me at the table?”

“Mason Verger is a pig... and he deserves to be somebody's bacon,” Bec seethed quietly. “Maybe you should kill Mason during your next session.”

“He may be intending to kill  _ me _ during our next session,” Huesyth shot back.

“Then you’ll just have to kill him first. You can manage that, I’m sure.”

Bec held Huesyth’s gaze, steady and unshakeable. It was so different compared to those months ago when the empath wouldn’t even look him in the eye or give him the time of day. Everything was so different.

“You said you were curious what would happen,” Huesyth started again. “I want you to close your eyes, Bec, and imagine what you would like to happen.”

He should have said no. He shouldn’t have let himself be so vulnerable but if Huesyth was planning on killing him, he would have done it already. So Bec’s eyes slipped closed again, the last thing he saw being the doctor sitting across from him and  _ when his eyes opened, Huesyth was the first thing he saw. _

_ But he was hanging before him, only several inches away from his face, bound in a straitjacket and dangling from a wire over the pigpen in Mason's barn. Huesyth stared at him, unmoving, unflinching, with a ghost of a smile turning up the sides of his lips. Just noticeable enough for Bec to see it but the empath was less amused by the situation than the imaginary doctor. _

_ The cold steel of a pocketknife’s blade was rested against Huesyth’s throat. There was a bite behind it but it didn’t cut immediately. _

_ Bec leaned up on the tips of his toes to let his lips linger minutely over the doctor’s before finally they were pressed together. Warm and firm and with the slash of the knife across Huesyth’s throat in a single fluid motion, the empath had ended him. A fountain of blood rushed between them and Bec could feel the heat of the red gushing onto him and trickling down the sides of his mouth, bathing him in it. Drawing back, Bec’s tongue poked out from between his lips to lick the blood from his mouth before the pulley system Huesyth was attached to lurched backward. _

_ It took the doctor from him, leaving a trail of blood at the empath’s feet but Huesyth didn’t break eye contact with him as he was then lowered into the pig pen below. With his white straitjacket stained with red, he disappeared below to become the pigs next meal. _

His eyes opened and he found out that he wasn’t as pleased with the images as he thought he’d be. The doctor was still sitting in front of him, curious as to what the empath imagined.

“What did you see?” Huesyth asked.

For a moment, Bec thought about telling him, evening opening his mouth to speak, but something held his tongue. A smile turned his lips instead. “We all need to keep some secrets, Doctor.”

 

The male Verger perused the pile of drawings that Huesyth kept on one of the back tables which only served to get Mason deeper under the doctor’s skin. Mason critiqued each sketch he saw, mumbling more ‘garbage’ than ‘good’ as he scanned the drawings.

With nimble fingers, the scalpel that was resting on his desk was tucked safely into the sleeve of Huesyth’s suit jacket.

“ **_Good boy,_ ** ” A whisper came to his ear. “ **_That's the first smart decision you’ve made since this game has begun._ ** ”

“Shall we talk about what happened to poor Margot?” Mason asked the taller man without looking up from the papers in his hands. His voice held no real sympathy for his sister and Huesyth wanted to gag.

The doctor offered. “We can get to that later.”

“Oh, we can get to it now,” Mason firmly interjected. “Family affairs are best left to the family, Dr. Cavalli, and you interfered.”

“ **_Uh oh,_ ** ” Mind Bec hummed, unbothered by the threatening tilt in Mason’s tone. “ **_Seems he knows more than he’s saying, lovely._ ** ”

“I provided counsel to you and to your sister,” Huesyth answered, as vague as it was clinical but Mason was unconvinced.

“You subverted me.”

The shorter man watched the doctor for a beat and Huesyth folded his hands together in front of him, feeling the cold press of the scalpel’s handle against his wrist. “While you were subverting the underprivileged children at your summer camp, what did you learn?”

“Keen student of the Bible that I am…” Mason hummed to himself as he began sauntering over towards Huesyth’s desk, turning the chair around so that he could plop into it and put his feet up on the desktop. “I learned about suffering. Not mine, mind you, but the general... conceit.”

A growl bubbled up from Huesyth’s side as the angered figment pressed against his side. “ **_Huesyth… he’s_ ** **disgusting** **_. Why are we still putting up this show for him of all people?_ ** ”

Huesyth buried the anger bubbling in him and ignored Mason’s uncaring attitude so that he may sit down back in his own chair, awaiting Mason to get up and fill the empty one across from him. The imaginary empath followed after him as he moved and stood on his right side, again the side that was the farthest away from Mason. Instead of falling into his lap, the figment instead stood above him and leaned on the back of his chair, idly picking at the leather.

“God's choices in inflicting suffering are not satisfactory to us, nor are they understandable, unless innocence offends him.”

Annoyingly loud, uproarious laughter bellowed from Mason as he clapped his hands together in amusement and finally dropping his feet from the desktop as he sat up. “Clearly, He needs help in directing his blind fury with which He flogs this earth.”

“Margot's happiness is more important than her suffering.”

The shorter man idly twisted the family ring on his left pinkie. “You say that as though the two are mutually exclusive.

“I believe they are,” Huesyth expressed.

Mason spun in the chair before standing quickly and began advancing on the doctor. “It is one of those things that is... hid... as the Bible says. Papa taught me how to hide all sorts of things.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Huesyth could see mind Bec bristle, eyes going wide at the sound of a distinct click before the blade of a knife was held against the right side of the doctor’s throat. But it didn’t cut into him or even draw blood. Huesyth was unmoved by the threat but the figment hissed and circled to the taller man’s other side.

“This was his knife,” Mason told him, voice full of a wistful fondness. “I carry it around with me to remind me of him.”

“ **_Kill him, Huesyth. Snap his thin, little wrist and shove that knife down his pathetic throat,_ ** ” Mind Bec sneered, turning his hateful eyes up to the Verger heir.

A tense, unflinching moment later, Mason pulled the knife away from the doctor’s neck, letting it linger by his shoulder to allow him to admire the sleek silver blade. But Huesyth asked calmly, almost bored. “Whose fat are you planning to measure today, Mason? Mine?”

“There’s no fat on you. It’ll take more than a mere flesh wound to make you squeal,” Mason scoffed loudly, moving around to Huesyth’s front to finally toss himself into the chair across from the doctor. But as he did, he shoved the pocketknife’s blade into the wooden chair arm, splintering it. The figment by Huesyth’s side flinched slightly and then puffed up with rage at the disrespect.

“What game of chicken are you and the sperm donor playing, Dr. Cavalli? Don't get me wrong. I play chicken with Margot all the time. I just don't tell her I'm playing.” Huesyth closed his mouth, not knowing that it had been slightly hanging open from when the heir stabbed his chair, as Mason leaned back casually in the chair. “I'm good at chicken, Dr. Cavalli. I never blink.”

Mason drew the blade from the wood and stabbed at it again before giving a wheeze of a laugh. Through his humor, Mason cackled. “Just send me the bill. I'm so sorry.”

Blinking once, the figment of Bec was suddenly standing behind Mason. His hand snapped forward and ripped the pocketknife out of the wood before wrenching Mason back by a handful of his hair to rip the blade crudely across the length of his throat. Blood gushed from the wound and Mason, wild-eyed and caught off guard by the attack, gurgled as he choked on the liquid rushing out of his throat. The red sprayed over the front of Mason’s clothes and trickled down mind Bec’s face and bare skin. When the figment looked up at Huesyth, standing proudly over the Verger’s body as he clutched at the bloody knife and dripping in red, a predatory smirk cracked across his face.

But the doctor blinked again, only a split second passing, and Mason was still alive, still laughing, with the pocket knife blade lodged deep into the wood.

 

“Huesyth has a certain personality style we can all learn from,” Bec told the older agent as he stood in the man’s office, shrugging slightly. “In moderation, of course.”

“All I want to do is  _ catch _ him,” Jack declared.

That’s all he ever wanted to do and Bec agreed with it. Catching him was the plan and getting him out of Bec’s life before the twins were born was an ideal outcome but Huesyth was shut like a steel trap. Their physical relationship may have begun again but the doctor still hadn’t opened up to him, not as they had been in the beginning.

Shaking his head out of frustration, Bec explained again. “He has given me nothing to go on, Jack. He has confessed to _ nothing _ . He's acknowledged only vagaries, only enough that he can wiggle out of it.”

“I need more than vagaries. You have  _ killed  _ someone for this, Bec.”

“Who was trying to kill me,” The empath cut in, just barely stopping himself from saying ‘us’ instead of ‘me’.

“I don't know if I can prove that. You mutilated the body!” Jack badgered, circling to the other side of his desk to avoid pacing. “We made a public spectacle of Freddie Lounds' death. I'm out on a limb here, and the limb is going to  _ break! _ I've only told the OIG what they need to know. Now, what haven't you told me?”

Running a hand over his face in an attempt to wade off a headache threatening to bloom behind his eyes, Bec finally began to explain. “Huesyth is trying to manipulate me into murdering one of his patients. Mason Verger. But I can manipulate Huesyth into killing him instead.”

The older agent narrowed his eyes at the shorter man, skeptical and probably fearing the worst. “What's Verger done?”

_ ‘What hadn’t Mason Verger done?’ would be the real question _ , Bec thought.

“Huesyth considers him rude,” Bec remarked, knowing how ridiculous it sounded. “It's motive enough. It's as though committing murders has purged him of lesser rudeness.”

“We're talking about putting a man's life in danger,” Jack thought to remind him but the empath wanted to retort.

Mason was farther from a man than Bec had time to go into. He’d have to explain how much of a monster Mason was later and hopefully after the heir was already dead but Bec was running out of patience. “Sometimes, Jack, a good plan is less about finding the best alternative, than it is about finding one that works.”

“Don't let empathy confuse what you want with what Cavalli wants,” Jack pleaded and the empath nearly scoffed at the ridiculousness of the thought.

Approaching the front of Jack’s desk, Bec steeled his expression. “I told you, Jack, I'm a good fisherman but we have to use the right bait. When Huesyth tries to kill Mason Verger, I'll arrest him, and you'll have two witnesses.”

The older agent lingered, pausing momentarily before saying. “We might have three... I'm a good fisherman too, Bec.”

Leaving the office without another word, Jack motioned for the empath to follow him and Bec did until they ended up beyond the two-way mirror and looking into an interrogation room. Bedelia du Maurier stood alone and paced about the room, her bright red blouse being a stark splotch of color against the rest of the bare room while her pale blonde hair coiled over one of her shoulders.

Barely moments later, Bec was circling the table to the side Bedelia wasn’t sat at and the woman kept her eyes on him as he moved, her face inscrutable. Laying the file down on the table before him, Bec commented. “They tell me you were pretty hard to find.”

“That was the idea,” Bedelia murmured, obviously upset by having been dragged back into the fold.

The empath gave an understanding nod. “Thank you... for visiting me in the hospital, and, uh... for what you said.”

“I didn’t say enough.”

Finally, Bec took a seat across from her. “Then now is your chance to say it all. You've been granted immunity from prosecution by the U.S. Attorney from District thirty-six, and by local authorities in a memorandum attached, sworn and attested,” He opened and slid the file to her so she could read the document. As her eyes scanned over the page, they flickered back up to Bec as he said. “Let's talk about Huesyth Cavalli.”

Bedelia took a deep breath, straightening up and pushing the file away from her. “Some psychiatrists are so hungry for insight that they may even try to manufacture it. How deadly that can be for any patient who believes them.”

“You were Dr. Cavalli's psychiatrist, he wasn't yours.”

“I told myself that over and over again,” Bedelia expressed, a broken little smile barely tugging at the corner of her mouth before falling. “But I was under Huesyth's influence and what he did to you made that  _ abundantly _ clear.”

The empath inhaled softly, before averting his eyes. “You were attacked by a patient who was formerly under Dr. Cavalli's care. That patient died during the attack. The report said that he swallowed his tongue.”

Almost minutely, Bedelia’s brow furrowed. “It wasn't attached at the time.”

“How... _ exactly _ did your patient die?”

A slight hesitation but much like her former patient, she swallowed her pride. “I killed him,” She stated clearly before taking a calming breath. “I believed it was in self-defense and to a point, it was. But beyond that point, it was murder. Huesyth... influenced me to murder my patient,  _ our  _ patient.”

The situation was beginning to sound all too familiar to Bec and he knew it showed on his face when he asked. “You weren't... coerced?”

“What Huesyth does is not coercion... it is persuasion. Has he ever tried to persuade you to kill anybody?” When Bedelia didn’t get any answer, her eyebrow quirked. “He will… and it will be somebody you love. And you will think it's the _ only  _ choice you have.”

Leaning back in his chair, Bec ignored his mounting dread to ask. “How would you catch him?”

“Huesyth can get lost... in self-congratulation at his own exquisite taste and cunning.  _ Whimsy _ . That will be how he will get caught.”

He’d heard enough from the doctor when he felt like he was listening to a personal insult against him. Why was he so upset over an answer he asked for? Or was he just upset over the idea of Huesyth actually being caught?

Pushing the intrusive and  _ ridiculous _ thought away, he gathered the file and swiftly exited the interrogation room where he nearly immediately ran into Jack in the dim hallway. The older agent seemed more troubled than even Bec was which gave the shorter man some form of comfort in the fact that he wasn’t the only person affected.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Jack asked, soft but firm and dripping with worry as the older agent even rested a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder.

The empath swallowed heavily as they began making their way back to Jack’s office. “I know how to get under his skin like he did with mine… play into the role he wants me to be.”

“And what role does he want from you, Bec?”

He paused in his answer but his step didn’t stutter. “Someone who understands him.”

“And do you?” Jack questioned. “Understand him, I mean.”

Another question he couldn’t answer, Bec’s mind was beginning to blur until they turned around a corner and a figure in black was sitting at the chairs outside of Jack’s office. When recognition struck, Bec halted in his tracks and Sofia’s eyes shot over to him. It was like she was searching for injuries, reasons as to why he hadn’t talked to her.

She stood quickly when the two men appeared, her hands clutched onto the straps of her purse that was over one of her shoulders.

“Ms. Crow,” Jack started, just as caught off guard as Bec was but at least he recovered quicker. “What a surprise to see you again.”

“Hello again, Special Agent Crawford,” Sofia greeted tightly, shaking Jack’s hand when he offered it to her. “I wanted to apologize for the things that I said to you before. I was angry… and scared and it was wrong of me to take it out on you.”

“No apologies needed,” The older agent smoothed over.

“What are you doing here, Sofia?” Bec asked and the younger woman’s eyes landed on him again.

She sighed softly. “I would’ve called but I knew you probably wouldn’t have answered.” The empath narrowed his eyes at the woman but she continued. “I just want to talk, Bec. Can you give me that, please?”

Sofia sounded desperate and her eyes looked haunted. He knew how it would look if he said no in front of Jack and he didn’t need anymore suspicion on him.

Nodding slightly, Bec relented. “Of course, Sof. Come on, let’s go.”

He rested a hand on her arm as the siblings left the room but the entire time, Bec felt Jack’s eyes lingering on him. Time was running out. Excuses were running out.

 

The cafe booth that they found themselves in was made of uncomfortable padding and covered with some kind of plastic sheeting to assist in cleaning after unruly children in uncaring families trampled through.

Sofia had ordered a mug of black coffee but kept it on the table in front of her, gazing into the dark liquid as she stirred it with her spoon. She hadn’t spoken very much at all to Bec since they arrived at the little cafe and the empath was beginning to grow nervous, a sense of shame rising in him despite her not shouting at him yet.

“Was t-there… something specific you wanted to talk about, Sof?” Bec asked hesitantly.

The younger woman finally looked back up at him, her spoon clattered against the interior of the ceramic mug when she let it go and sat back on her side of the booth. “You haven’t called, texted, emailed. Hell, even sent a damn letter since you got out. For a while, I thought you just needed time to yourself to think about all that’s happened but… but I heard you’re back in therapy with Dr. Cavalli.”

The empath’s face fell. “How do you know that?”

“It doesn’t matter. Is it true?” Sofia argued and when Bec didn’t answer, she sighed loudly with a shake of her head. ‘Disappointment’ was the first word to pop into Bec’s mind at the sight. “What are you doing, Bec?”

“I’m trying to catch the guy that put me in a mental hospital,” The empath replied as if that excuse could clear him of any wrongdoing. He knew it wouldn’t.

“And how far are you willing to go for that?!” Sofia snapped at her brother which caused him to withdraw slightly. She lowered her voice. “Did you have anything to do with the death of that Lounds lady?”

Bec’s eyes shot up. “I can’t talk about that, Sofia. It’s an open case.”

“You better start talking soon cause this is  _ not _ gonna fly with me,” The younger woman badgered.

He shouldn’t tell her. He  _ couldn’t _ tell her. But if he didn’t he could lose her forever and that seemed like an even worse fate. Last second, he blurted out. “I didn’t kill her. She isn’t dead.”

Eyes going wide, Sofia furrowed her brow. “Wha-?”

“It’s all an elaborate scheme to catch Huesyth,” Bec explained. “Freddie Lounds faked her death to help us... and it’s working.”

At the admission, Sofia seemingly looked even more horrified. “What kind of spy movie are you living in, Bec?”

Bec gave a breathy laugh. “I wish I knew.”

“Then do you know what happened with Amaund?”

Bec narrowed his eyes quizzically. “What happened with Amaund?”

“He was staying at my place while he was looking into the Cavallis but he came back in the middle of the night, packed up and left. Didn’t say anything about what happened or give any kind of explanation. He just… up and left,” Sofia matched eyes with the empath. “He looked like he was running from something. Do you have any idea what that was about?”

“Remember when I told him to stop seeing Huesyth’s older brother?” Bec asked to which Sofia quickly nodded. “He didn’t. Huesyth caught them and thought that Amaund was using his brother to collect evidence on him. He threatened Amaund to leave... and then sent a suspect that we had been trying to find after me in retaliation.”

The last sentence came out in a fast blur in hopes that she wouldn’t catch it completely but nothing ever got passed Sofia. “He sent some crazy guy after you?!”

“Yeah… he broke one of my windows and busted into my house.”

“A-Are you okay? What happened?” Sofia questioned, motioning to him and scanning over him in search of injuries.

“Nothing happened. The guy’s dead now.”

But her eyes went down to his hands. The skin on his knuckles wasn’t as bloody and bruised as it had been when he killed Randall but the scars were noticeable enough that he pulled his hands off the table, tucking them into his lap.

Sofia looked back up at him but there wasn’t horror in her eyes. There was shock and there was something gut-wrenchingly disappointed. “Bec, what did you do?”

He fought for a response, mouth opening and closing several times. “He was trying to kill me. I-I… I had to protect myself. I had to protect the twins, Sofia.”

Her face softened minutely. At her core, she was so soft and so kind. Everything in her wanted to say that he was justified but the blood on his hands was terrifying and he knew that. He knew that she wouldn’t be able to look past that if she knew everything that he did to Randall after his death.

Hesitantly, Sofia nodded. “...But you’re okay?”

Bec nodded as well. “I’m fine.  _ We’re _ fine. We’re gonna be even better as soon as this is all over and Huesyth is out of our lives.”

Sofia seemed soothed by his words despite herself and paused briefly before asking her brother gently. “Have you thought about what you’re gonna name them?”

A genuine smile crossed Bec’s face and he chuckled softly. “Briefly. Mia for the girl and Ace for the boy.”

“Mia…” Sofia repeated curiously. “Isn’t that-” “Huesyth’s late mother’s name. Yeah. I liked the name.”

Another pause as Sofia stared at him but sympathetically. “Is this your way of keeping a piece of him with you?”

“I guess it could be. But… Sofia, I’d like you and Bianca and Avery to leave town,” The younger woman’s face dropped and he could tell that she was about to snap at him again. “Just for a few days. I’ll set you guys up in a hotel if I have to but… this is all getting messy. And with Amaund nearly messing up my cover-”

“I’d never do that to you, Bec.”

The empath smiled slightly. He knew she wouldn’t. “I know but this is just a precaution. We’re stirring up drama with some bad people who just had a woman nearly killed in a car accident. I  _ can’t _ take chances.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sofia cringed.

“Just a few days,” Bec begged. “Just until I’m sure we got him and we’re all safe. He already sent someone after me. I’m not waiting around until he sends someone after you.”

Sofia was reeling and at a lost for words. “B-But what about you? You’re playing murder chicken with the guy. You really think you can survive that if he even suspects that you’re betraying him.”

“I’m doing it right now,” The empath argued. “But I won’t survive this if I lose you. Please… just a few days away.”

Conflicted for sure, Bec was positive that she’d say no but end up being the next body that the FBI found and connected to this new string of murders in their courtship. It would be something that would push Bec over the edge for sure.

But Sofia made a sound akin to a sigh mixed with a scoff. “I’ll talk to Bianca. See what she has to say but I’m not promising anything long term.”

“A week at most. It’s all I need, Sof.”

Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the table, however, and both of their eyes snapped to meet it. He quickly took it up and examined the text notification on the screen that had his hard pounding heavily in his chest.

 

“We're maintaining our position on the event horizon of chaos.”

The empath wished he could enjoy the wine that Huesyth offered to pour for the two of them but denied it. However, his lack of alcohol didn’t keep him from basking in the warmth of the office that the fireplace put off. The heat settled in Bec’s bones and made him relax against his chair as Huesyth returned to his seat across from him.

“Your veneer of self-composure gives a strong sense of the surreal,” Bec remarked. “So much about this feels like a dream.”

“Dreams prepare us for waking life.”

“Speaking of dreams,” Bec remembered after scoffing softly. From his jacket pocket, he drew out a leather-bound journal that Huesyth seemed to recognize almost immediately when his eyes landed on it. The empath played with the edges of the binding. “Do you remember this old thing?”

“The dream journal that I purchased for you after Hobbs’ death,” Huesyth stated.

“Mm-hmm,” Bec hummed. “I actually wrote in it for a while after you gave it to me.”

A smile quirked at the edges of the taller man’s lips. “I’m glad to hear it. I assumed you threw it away.”

“No. I’d never. I was rude, Dr. Cavalli, I’ll admit that but I was never so willfully destructive. I think it helped quite a lot.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at the empath. “Really?”

Bec hummed in agreement. “I hid it under one of my floorboards before Gideon escaped and I guess I just forgot about it. My dreams were getting pretty interesting there at the end.”

“May I see it?” Huesyth asked and the younger man smiled. Moving slowly, Bec stood and dropped the journal into Huesyth’s awaiting hand.

“I will warn you though,” Bec started again as he sat back in his chair. “It gets pretty graphic. It's one thing to dream, it's another to... understand the nature of the dream.”

Huesyth placed the journal on the side table next to his chair. “You're waking up to who you are. That's all you need to understand. There are extraordinary circumstances here, Bec. And unusual opportunities.”

“For whom?” Bec questioned.

“For both of us.”

He kept his expression passive. “Mason Verger’s an opportunity?”

“Mason Verger is a problem,” Huesyth declared and Bec could agree. “Problem-solving is hunting. It's a savage pleasure, and we are born to it. A pleasure we can share.”

“Your fostering codependency,” Bec stated which earned him a raised brow from the doctor.

“Is that what I’m doing?” He was playing dumb and not even trying to mask it for the younger man’s sake.

“Isn't that what you did to Abigail? Got her to take a life so she would owe you hers?” The empath’s face remained calm, observational and analytical as he observed Huesyth. He leaned forward in his chair. “I bond with Abigail, you take her away. I bond with... barely more than the idea of a child, you take it away. You saw to it that I alienated Alana, alienated Jack. You scare my brother and sister out of the city so that I don't even have them for comfort. You don't want me to have anything in my life that's not  _ you. _ ”

“I only want what’s best for you.”

It wasn’t a denial and Bec scoffed. “Please. Every moment of cogent thought under your psychiatric care is a personal victory.”

“You're applying yourself to my perspective... as I've been applying myself to yours.”

A pause stretched between them before Bec finally said. “You're right.” Huesyth perked up at the statement. “We are just alike. You're as alone as I am. And we're both alone without each other.”

 

With the upside down brass bowl placed in the center of the tray, Huesyth carried it out into his dining room where Jack was waiting.

“Kholodets. A Ukrainian dish whose outcome can never be predicted,” Huesyth names as he sat the tray on the table before the older agent and Jack hummed to show he was listening. Removing the brass bowl, he revealed a dome of delicate gelatin and trapped within were small fish, frozen mid-swim. “The Latin word gelatus translates as ‘frozen.’ Here, the aspic provides a three-dimensional canvas in which one may stage a scene.”

“The eternal chase,” Jack named, observing the odd dish with questioning eyes.

“An evocative shape in that at a certain point, it becomes unclear who's pursuing whom.”

Jack gave a small, knowing laugh. “Well, in isolation, a moment can't really speak to motive, intent or aftermath.”

“ **_Stop playing with him, love,_ ** ” A voice sounded from somewhere to the doctor’s left. “ **_You’ll mess everything up._ ** ”

Huesyth continued, cutting the gelatin down the middle. “Aspic is derived from bone... as a life is made from moments.”

“So, tell me, Huesyth,” Jack started and the doctor could feel himself bristle, opting to instead take his seat across from the older agent. “What, uh... what moment are we in now? You, me, Bec?”

“Still harboring doubts about Bec?” Huesyth asked.

“Alana Bloom isn't harboring any doubts,” Jack revealed. “She's convinced that he murdered Freddie Lounds.”

Huesyth tried to hold back his reaction but the figment of the empath appeared in the chair at the head of the table again, arms crossed over his chest. “ **_Well she certainly didn’t mention that in your last talk. I told you she knew more than she was saying, Huesyth._ ** ”

The doctor ignored mind Bec’s pestering to question. “And you?”

“I am convinced of my general lack of trust in other people.”

“Lack of trust in other people increases the need for religion,” He could see the imaginary Bec roll his eyes in his peripheral vision. “If you can't rely on others, you have to rely on God.”

Jack gave another muted chuckle. “Hmm. I'm relying on myself. And yet at this moment, I have to confess that... I don't know who's pursuing whom any more than these fish do.”

Nodding in agreement, Huesyth looked down at his plate. “Whoever pursuing who in this very moment, I intend to eat them.”

 

The next day, he had told his sister he would come to help them get ready to leave but as soon as he stepped out onto his porch, a limousine pulled up. An older style one that seemed horribly out of place in front of his shabby little home.

The driver stepped out and barely even looked at the empath before he went to the back door and opened it. He saw a dark figure move within it before Mason Verger climbed out. Bec’s heart seemed to drop into his stomach but he knew that it was unavoidable now.

He stepped off the porch but before he could reach Mason, the driver intercepted him with an arm shooting out to block him. The empath stuck his arms out from his sides and let the driver roughly pat him down for any weapons. Mason gestured to the open limo door and Bec resigned but reluctant, gets inside with the Verger following after him.

 

Sounds of graphite scratching against the surface of thick sketchbook paper were the only sounds that filled Huesyth’s office. He was simply counting down the hours until he could see Bec again but before he could bring up his scalpel to refine the point of his pencil, the door to the waiting room opened.

He looked up from his sketch to see two men in black clothing and hats entering, one he recognized as the man, Carlo, who met him outside the Verger pig barn.

“Buongiorno, Dottore,” Carlo greeted, the familiarity of the language only putting Huesyth more on edge.

“Buongiorno,” Huesyth said back, setting down his pencil but immediately slipping the scalpel into his hand.

“Mr. Verger wants your company,” Carlo explained but a very subtle creaking of the floorboards rose from behind the doctor. The patient's exit. “Please. Come with us.”

“Preferirei di no,” Huesyth replied.

Something was swung at his head and he barely missed it with a dodge. Sliding sideways, he struck the man in the side before jamming the blade of the scalpel into his leg and sent him stumbling back before grabbing a paperweight off his desk and slamming it across the side of Carlo’s face when he shot forward. The doctor spun and knocked the legs out from under the stunned man who came in with Carlo, sending him crashing violently to the floor. But as he tried to stand and swing a fist at Carlo again, the prongs of a taser discharged electricity into his chest.

Huesyth crumbled onto the floor but there came a grunt of pain that wasn’t his own. He and Carlo looked up to the third man who had entered through the patient exit and saw him clutching futility at his bloody leg, the scalpel still lodged deeply.

“Matteo…” Carlo said softly.

However, the third man, Matteo, instinctively grasped the hilt of the scalpel and yanked it free from his flesh with a gush of blood. He slipped in it, collapsing to the floor as a rapidly expanding pool of red began forming underneath him.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” Huesyth commented as he gazed on at the sight before he was promptly zapped again by the taser, blacking out.

 

Lifting up from the platform with his feet barely touching it anymore, Huesyth looked on at Carlo as he worked. He could do little else considering his arms were bound to his front by the straitjacket harnessed to the winch line.

Carlo must have noticed he had regained consciousness as he perked up. “Buona sera... Dottore.”

“You are Sardinian,” Huesyth recognized as he turned uselessly in a circle on the line he was dangling from. “If you have to be kidnapped for ransom, a wealthy Italian will tell you it's better to fall into the hands of the Sards. And you're a professional revenger as well, I suspect.”

Carlo drew a blade from his coat pocket, one the doctor recognized as his own, and gazed upon the cleanness of the blade. Probably wishing so desperately to shove it into Huesyth’s throat. “With you... it is personal now.”

“I take it Matteo didn't make it.” Huesyth’s mouth quirked in a smirk. “Did he foul himself? I imagine he smells worse than you by now.”

As his eyes go dead, Carlo stepped forward towards the doctor, raising the blade but before he could do any damage a voice shouted from the stairs to the platform.

“Kill him and you will get no money!” But the man pressed on and nearly ran the blade along the line of Huesyth’s neck before Mason put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back. “Carlo!”

The Verger spoke angrily to his subordinate and Huesyth only swung there before another pair of men moved up the stairs as well. Bec and the second man Carlo was within Huesyth’s office came into his view and the empath locked eyes with him immediately, lingering in front of him a safe distance away.

Mason turned and looked between them before releasing a loud laugh. “Those little piggies are gonna go EEE-EEE-EEE all the way home. Haha! Yes!” Mason exclaimed, motioning to Huesyth’s feet as they dangled uselessly above the platform. He grabbed Huesyth by the arms when he began to turn away and forced him to look the heir in the eye. “The swine may be shy with starting with the toes so we need to encourage them with a little sauce, huh? So we're gonna cut your throat.”

“Padrone,” Carlo spoke up. “He killed Matteo.”

Mason wiggled a finger at the doctor. “We can give Matteo's family Dottoroni's cojones, for comfort. Capisce?”

Stepping forward, Carlo handed Mason the knife, offering a warning. “He likes to cut low.”

Mason patted a heavy hand against Huesyth’s chest as he steadied him on the line. “You are an odd psychiatrist. We could've had some good, funny times together. It's a damn shame!” Mason turned from the doctor and stepped up to Bec, blocking the empath’s view before grabbing his hand and forcing the knife into it. “I've muzzled the dog, now it's time for you to put him down.”

He rested a hand on Bec’s shoulder, applying just enough pressure to get him moving closer towards the helpless man. Hesitating, Bec looked down at the knife he had clutched in his palm and then back up to the doctor but Huesyth just quirked his head, regarding him without saying a word. Bec pressed the blade against the front of Huesyth’s throat and a wave of deja vu seemed to wash over him before Mason shouted.

“Don't bleed him out! Just... just a little nick. Just enough to give the pigs a taste.”

Mason’s voice visibly grated on Bec’s thinning nerves as he turned his attention back up to the taller man that he had a knife pressed against.

“Is this everything you imagined it to be?” Huesyth finally asked.

His voice almost made Bec jump as the empath didn’t expect him to speak. Softly, Bec answered. “...Yes.”

“You must loathe it,” Huesyth replied, the edge of his mouth curling back in a slight snarl that revealed one of his sharp canines.

Swallowing heavily, Bec furrowed his brow.  _ Yes, I do. _

Moving as quickly as he could, Bec spun the doctor and made a long vertical slash down the back of the straitjacket, the canvas material, and the straps splitting. Huesyth dropped to the platform.

As time seemingly began to slow around him, Mason shouted something but the two other men on the platform already started to move. Suddenly, there was a dull pain blooming within the back of Bec’s skull and crumbled to the floor as the knife slipped from his hand. Though his eyes were blurring, he could see all hell breaking loose around him before his mind went black.

 

When he regained his consciousness an unknown amount of time later, there was something cooling on the skin of his temple and when he reached up to run a finger through it, it came away stained red. The platform was deathly quiet which only sought to rattle Bec more as he began to try and sit up despite the pain in his head.

His eyes focused and he found himself surrounded by streaks and pools of blood, some smeared in the inevitable struggle that took place. Through his buzzing mind, a sound finally registered, that of content pigs feasting below him.

Groggy and unstable, Bec staggered towards the railing and sees the winch and chain pulled taut with the weight of a body anchoring it down into the center of the pig pen but Bec couldn’t see it. A spike of nauseous anxiety rose in the empath as he stepped away from the rails to fiddle with the winch controls and he hit the button to trigger the chain to begin spooling up. The motor hums above him and the pigs grunted loudly at their meal being swiftly taken from them but Bec had to see who it was. Had to be sure…

The savaged victim was pulled into view and it wasn’t Huesyth or even Mason, it was one of the men that were with them on the platform. Carlo, he’d heard Mason shout before the chaos was unleashed. The empath was sure that he was the one who hit him.

The dead man’s bottom half was completely gone, torn apart at the waist and left dangling in bloody shreds of fabric and flesh.

For some unfathomable reason, Bec felt far more relieved than he should’ve.

 

It was nearly pitch black by the time he found himself back home but the darkness of his house had never seemed more appealing to him. He moved slow, exhausted and still so groggy with the pain in his head barely wavering.

But as he approached the front door and his hand lingered over the knob, shuffling came from inside that had him pausing. No one should’ve been there and Sofia’s car wasn’t parked outside so he knew she wasn’t there to yell at him.

As the door opened and fell closed behind him, a cold shiver ran down his spine when a wet incoherent mumbling drew his attention towards one of the dark corners of the living room.

“I just love your snakes,” A voice slurred.

A bloody hand came from the shadows, only lit by the moonlight coming through the window, with a slick piece of meat dangling from its grip. It was dropped carelessly to the floor.

“Mason?” Bec softly questioned.

“I never liked the cold-blooded pets,” Mason mumbled, his voice so slurred and unsteady. “But I adopted dogs from the shelter once, two dogs that were friends. I had them in a cage together with no food but fresh water. One of them died hungry... the other one had a warm meal.” The heir could barely sit up straight but he waggled a bloody finger at the empath. “I should have put you in a cage with Dr. Cavalli. I'm curious about what would've happened.”

All Bec could think to answer with is that they probably wouldn’t have eaten each other had they been trapped together, unlike the dogs.

With mounting concern, Bec followed the droplets of blood on the floor that led from the apparently drugged up man to the snake room. Through the orange tinted lights over the terrariums, he could see bloody fingerprints, handprints, and smears all over the glass. Chunks of meat had been placed at the bottoms of some of the tanks and most of the snakes were freaking out and others were swallowing the pieces greedily. He narrowed his eyes, lip curling in disgust.

“What did you feed my snakes?” Bec asked.

Mason gave a grave wheeze of a laugh as he finally sat up straight only to reveal that he had stuck the blade of the knife he used to cut Huesyth free into his own bleeding, mangled face. He was slicing at the strips of flesh still dangling uselessly from his mouth. His cheeks and jaw were destroyed, revealing his teeth and he grinned a terrible grin to Bec. “Just me!”

Mason broke down into a fit of maniacal laughter as the empath felt bile burning the inside of his throat. Bec couldn’t really hold back the horror he felt but something moved to his side. Looking over, he found Huesyth standing next to him after he emerged from the shadows of the home, staring blankly at Mason as he wheezed. There was a small cut over the doctor’s left brow that elicited a drop of blood dripping down to his eye.

Moving out of his way, Huesyth crossed to Bec’s other side as the empath had to lean against the wall to stay upright. “What Mason is experiencing isn't restricted to reality, so... reality has to be forced to adapt.”

Bec breathed out heavily. “He fed his face to my snakes.”

“He broadened their palates as I broadened yours,” Huesyth explained, far too sugarcoated for Bec’s taste. He turned back to the heir, who was still sawing at his face mercilessly, and stepped closer to the empath. “Murder or mercy?”

That should’ve been the moment that he was arresting Huesyth. He had just asked Bec if he should kill Mason for him and it could’ve easily been taken as evidence. But he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He’d have to deal with Jack’s disappointment later.

“There is no mercy,” Bec sneered with a shake of his head. “We make mercy... manufacture it in the parts that have overgrown our basic reptile brain.”

“Then there is no murder. We make murder too. It matters only to us.” The doctor drew closer still and Bec had to admit that he felt safer then than he had the entire day. Huesyth rested his hands on the younger man’s waist, not pulling or tugging or demanding, just resting. Giving Bec the chance to pull away when he wanted to but he let their noses nuzzle close. “You know that you possess all the elements to make murder. Perhaps mercy too, but murder is something you understand uncomfortably well.”

The empath’s eyes flicked down to the taller man’s lips but then came a loud interrupting demand from the delirious man in the corner. “I’m hungry!”

At that proximity, Bec could see how Huesyth immediately tensed, his face pinching in agitation as he turned back to Mason.

“Eat your nose then,” Huesyth commanded.

“Eat my…” Mason raised a hand to his ruined face and pressed his finger curiously against the tip of his nose. “Eat my nose?”

Without the slightest hesitation, the knife came up to cut off most of the mound of cartilage and skin on the front of his face with some simple carving. Disgusted, Bec had to look away and nearly bury his face in Huesyth’s chest when Mason shoved the bloody piece into his mouth, pleading softly. “God, please get him out of my house.”

“I have a taste and consistency that's similar to that of a chicken gizzard,” Mason described dramatically.

A calming hand smoothed against Bec’s back, rubbing small circles on his jacket in an attempt to soothe him. “Taste is housed in parts of the mind that precedes pity. Pity has no place at the table.”

“I’m full of myself,” Mason chortled with another loud laugh.

Undeterred, Bec drew back from the doctor and shook his head. “I'm not gonna kill him.”

Huesyth furrowed his brow at the empath. “He was going to feed you to his pigs after he fed them me. Weren't you, Mason?”

Mason waved his hands but concurred. “I was.”

But despite that fact, Bec matched eyes with Huesyth, straightening up slightly. “He's your patient, Doctor. You do what you think is best for him.”

With a small smile, Huesyth’s eyes focused on the empath before the amusement was wiped away when he looked back to Mason. Smoothly, he moved behind Mason as he mumbled to himself and took the heir’s face in his hands to swiftly snap the brittle bones in his neck. Mason went limp in his grip, slouching against the chair as Huesyth checked his pulse. He gave the empath a satisfied smile when he felt that it remained. He wiped off the blood that stuck to his hands on Mason’s filthy shirt before stepping out from behind the chair again.

 

The blood was cleaned up and Mason was dumped back into the snow at his mansion to be dealt with however they saw fit. In the days that followed, he knew he’d be hearing very soon from Jack but for the time being, Bec lingered far too long in Huesyth’s office. Night consuming them again and the fire crackling behind them as Bec stepped up to the desk that Huesyth was sketching at. He recognized the drawing that Huesyth was recreating from memory. From what Bec could remember of the famous painting, it was nearly a perfect recreation.

Huesyth noticed the attention he gained from the empath and leaned back in his chair slightly. “Achilles lamenting the death of Patroclus. Whenever he's mentioned in The Iliad, Patroclus seems to be defined by his empathy.”

“He became Achilles on the field of war,” Bec remembered, not looking up from the grief-stricken face that Huesyth had just finished sketching. “He died for him there, wearing his armor.”

Huesyth was drawn back to his drawing. “He did. Hiding and revealing identity is a constant theme throughout the Greek epics.”

“As are battle-tested relationships.”

With the intimate details of his face sharpened by the backlit glow of the fire, Huesyth turned his eyes up to the empath standing over him. “Achilles wished all Greeks would die so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. It took divine intervention to bring them down.”

It wasn’t divine intervention that Bec was beginning to worry about. “This isn't sustainable. We're going to get caught.”

“Jack already suspects you killed Freddie Lounds,” Huesyth revealed and Bec had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

_ Bury it, _ something within him hissed.  _ Don’t let him see your guilt. _

“If Jack told you he suspects me, that means he suspects you too.”

“I know,” Huesyth answered quickly.

Quietly, Bec considered their options, however few there were now that Bec missed his chance to arrest Huesyth and was now being dragged more firmly into his world by the tether of his guts. It was painful but he didn’t know what else to do.

“You should give him what he wants.”

Huesyth didn’t react, eyes scanning over the desk instead of the empath. “Give him the Chesapeake Ripper?”

“Allow him closure,” Bec whispered as he moved closer, cupping a gentle hand under the doctor’s jaw to draw his attention up to him. His thumb played at the edge of Huesyth’s cheekbones as he continued. “Reveal yourself. You've taunted him for long enough. Let him see you with clear eyes.”

“Jack has become my friend. I suppose I do owe him the truth.”

Bec allowed the doctor to pull out of his grasp after they smiled calmly to one another, his eyes going back to the sketch while Bec quietly paced in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


	13. “Mizumono”

The older agent drew the invitation out from the card, reading the decorative cursive script of Huesyth’s handwriting before his eyes look up to the empath. “Dr. Huesyth Cavalli requests the pleasure of my company for dinner.”

“Yes, he’s told me that he would,” Bec said.

That drew a pointed look from Jack. “And you didn’t tell me before?”

“I allow him his frivolities… and his dramatics because if I said anything then he would get suspicious,” The younger man expressed, voice nearly bored with the accusatory tone of his superior.

“I think  _ when _ you find out is less important than what we do now, don’t you think? So there we all are, everybody's settling in for dinner.”

“I'm wearing a wire,” Jack continued, gesturing to himself. “I’ll have sharpshooters on the rooftops of neighboring houses with lines of sight to all the windows.”

It was certainly a plan but Huesyth was smarter than that. Remembering back to the layout of the doctor’s house, the kitchen was one of the rooms that didn’t have any windows within the lines of sight of other buildings. “He'll try to kill you in the kitchen. It’s blocked off with only one window facing into the back where you can’t see in. It will be for convenience sake… make it easier to prepare the tartar.”

The older agent stared at the empath, digesting the information. “Huesyth thinks you are _ his _ man in the room and I think you're  _ mine. _ ”

Bec didn’t respond. He barely even looked up. “I guess that means I’m good at my job, right?”

Jack’s expression was unimpressed.

 

“You sit in that chair, Bec, as you have so many times before,” Huesyth stated. “It holds the vibrations of all our previous conversations that were held in its presence.”

Idly, the empath’s nail was drug gently across the material of the chair’s armrest. It made a soft scratching noise that was only loud enough for him to hear and it was something to focus on.

Anything besides his own thoughts. “All the exchanges and our volatile collisions… and tender affections.”

“The grunts and poetry of life,  _ our _ lives. Everything we've ever said. Listen to it... What do you hear?”

Whispers. He heard distant whispers into his ears when he stopped his scratching along with the incessant ticking of a clock. It was like a party of spirits were dancing around him and he muttered to the doctor. “I hear the ghosts of our previous selves still laughing, still happy… like a melody from a better time.” Bec scoffed softly to himself, averting his eyes. “Like a party across the hall that you weren’t invited to.”

Huesyth’s face went soft, nearly gentle. “We're orchestrations of carbon. You and me.”

“And Jack,” Bec added almost clumsily.

“Yes… and Jack,” The doctor repeated but his tone was much more grim.

He noticed that tone and it made him straighten his back. Bec swallowed back the tightness in his throat. “Jack won't be easy to kill. He'll be armed. He's strong, well-trained. When we have our moment, we can't hesitate.”

Huesyth nodded in understanding but didn’t seem as worried about it as Bec was. “When a fox hears a rabbit scream, he comes running, but not to help. When you hear Jack scream, why will you come running?”

The empath sighed, his eyes sliding shut before the opened again and Huesyth was still there. “When the time comes…”

He blinked and then there’s Jack. “When the time comes…”

The two of them, Jack and Huesyth, seemed to blend together, cut down the middle so that they shared each other’s other half. At the same time, the two spoke. “...will you do what needs to be done?”

Hesitating momentarily, Bec finally answered to both or neither or to himself despite not knowing just what the truth was. “Of course. I know where my loyalties lie.”

 

She looked over at the man, a lazy kind of smile on her lips. “I'm going to enjoy my resurrection. In my experience, nothing sells better than a good survival story.”

The dorm room Freddie was situated in was similar to that of Miriam’s but had considerably more windows. With the more light, the redness of her hair was even more vibrant.

“I wouldn't count us among the survivors just yet, Freddie,” Bec muttered. “The battle isn’t over.”

However, Freddie casually crossed one of her legs over the other. “I’m counting me as a survivor. I started as a cancer editor at a supermarket tabloid and look at me now.”

Bec offered a loose shrug. “Cancer is a very lucrative media if you think about it.”

“Ain't that the truth?” Freddie scoffed before naming off some of the gimmicky titles. “‘New Cures for Cancer.’ ‘Cancer Miracle Cure.’ All these supposed cures and yet it’s still one of the leading causes of death in the country.”

“We're all desperate for a little hope.” At the time, Bec was more desperate than others and covered the way his voice broke a little. He finally looked up at the journalist, struggling as he did. “I want to ask you to do something for me, Freddie. Or rather... don't do something. Don't write about Abigail. You can write about me or Huesyth or anyone else. But just… just leave Abigail alone.”

There was something akin to pity creasing the woman’s features. It was the first time she had offered that kind of expression to him. Not like he really deserved it considering the petty bitterness they slung each other’s ways but still.

He knew getting her to agree wouldn’t have been a problem though because he knew she cared just as deeply for Abigail as he did, probably even more so. They both had the same thirst for justice for her and he doubted that she was willing to dig up Abigail’s bones just for a story.

Nevertheless, Freddie considered the odd request, studying Bec carefully before stating. “You really don't know if you're going to survive him, do you?”

A pause filled the air. “Just let her rest in peace… please, Freddie.”

Her eyes were pointed, digging into the side of his head even as he looked away from her but then she gave a soft sigh. “I will.”

 

Journals dropped through the air, landing in a pile on the floorboards by Bec’s feet before a specific one was tossed into his arms. His eyes turned up and he observed the doctor as he paced across the second floor.

He scanned the journal that he was given and found familiar writing on the pages. “These are your notes on me.”

Huesyth smiled down from the second-floor landing, arms full of other such journals as the one Bec was holding. “So they are.”

The doctor continued tossing down the journals and Bec collected an arm full of them as he crossed over to the burning fire, still scanning the one on him. In one last form of consideration, he hesitated before tossing it into the licking flames, which quickly wrapped around it. The askew clock he’d drawn under the influence of the encephalitis was devoured by the flames and only left behind curling ash.

There was a movement behind him as Huesyth returned from the upper level with the last few journals in hand, including the leather bound one that Bec returned to him. “Don't your patients need these after you're gone?”

“The FBI will pour over my notes if I left them behind. I will spare my patients the embarrassment and scrutiny.”

A considerate notion from a usually not very considerate man. “How… unnaturally sympathetic of you.”

Without looking up from the journal at the top of the pile that he was thumbing through, Huesyth grinned to himself. “Sympathy has little to do with basic courtesy, my dear. I’m only doing what I hope others would have done for me if the roles were reversed.”

Bec cocked an eyebrow at the taller man because he was pretty sure that hope and sympathy could work interchangeably but he let the doctor have his moment. “I'm dismantling who I was and moving it away brick by brick. When we're gone from this life with Jack Crawford and the FBI behind us, I will always have this place.”

The doctor’s eyes scanned over the expanse of the office before gathering one of the books from the table. They moved back to the fireplace together and Huesyth began removing loose pages to be burned individually.

“Will it be in your memory palace?” Bec questioned.

“Safe from anyone who would try to plunder it. My palace is vast, even by medieval standards. The foyer is of the Norman Chapel in Palermo, severe and beautiful and timeless,” Huesyth described as he turned back to the empath. “With a single reminder of mortality: A skull graved into the floor.”

Bec nodded in understanding. “All I need is... A dance studio with a tree outside the window.”

“In those moments where you can't overcome your surroundings, you can make it all go away by simply slipping back into the dark.”

The empath shrugged loosely as he added. “Put my head back, close my eyes, wade into the quiet of my own mind where its safest.”

His mind had never been quiet. It usually thrummed at a thousand miles an hour and that was what led him to near destruction. But at that moment, it rested far easier. It quieted down in the doctor’s presence and allowed him peace for moments at a time.

“If I'm ever apprehended,” Huesyth continued. “My memory palace will serve as more than a mnemonic system. I will live there for as long as I am allowed to.”

Bec studied the taller man, feeling a tug in his chest as they moved over to his desk. “Could you be happy there?”

The empath could see Huesyth reflect on the question, uncertain, but a smile quirked at his lips. “Not all of the palace chambers are lovely, light and bright. In the walls of our hearts and brains, danger is waiting. There are holes in the floor of the mind.”

“Like someone pulled up the floorboards?” Bec quipped. “It’s like your past self is trying to trip you up in the dark.”

The empath crossed in front of the taller man in order to pick up more files. Little did he know that curiously Huesyth had leaned forward slightly as an unfamiliar scent seemed to linger on the empath’s clothes. An image immediately appeared in the doctor’s mind. One comprised of only red. Red clothes, red coiling hair, smooth red skin but bright blue eyes peered through the crimson.

From that color emerged a face.  _ Freddie Lounds _ smirking with red lips.

Blissfully unaware of the doctor’s sudden freezing, Bec pulled away with a handful of papers, returning to feed the flames more fuel. But something seemed to crack within Huesyth’s hollow chest as he stared at the back of the empath’s head.

“ **_I told you,_ ** ” An intrusive voice whispered but Huesyth swallowed heavily, slowly approaching Bec from behind. “ **_That’s right, pet. Snap his neck. Wrap your hands around his thin throat until he stops squirming. He’s a liar. He betrayed you. Kill him._ ** ”

An arm slid around the front of Bec’s waist and the younger man seemed to stiffen in the grip before melting back into it. The doctor’s other hand slipped beneath Bec’s jaw, holding him firmly. But he didn’t apply any more pressure, instead, he tipped Bec’s head aside gently so that Huesyth could lay a kiss against the column of his throat. Sighing softly, Bec wrapped his hand around the one on his jaw, just holding. Keeping him close.

There was an angry growl bubbling up in his mind as he held the empath. “ **_You’re pathetic._ ** ”

But Huesyth was glad that he was standing behind Bec as the younger man couldn’t see the deep hurt and sadness creasing his features.

 

“You've set some sort of trap up and you're trying to goad Huesyth into it,” Alana explained simply later that day, leaning forward on the table, but so unconvinced. “How can you be sure he's not goading you and Jack?”

Bec looked to the woman, his silence as much of an admission as the truth. Her tired eyes were welling up with tears at the corners due to being left outside while the horrible events unraveled before her.

“I’m not.”

Her words followed him from the interview room at the B.A.U. all the way back to Huesyth’s home in Baltimore. Even more, the tear that rolled down her cheek and dropped into the small pool forming on the table in front of her left a squeezing pressure around his heart. He wanted desperately to be rid of it but it clung to him like the smell of ashes on his clothes.

The day had finally wound down to nightfall and Bec found himself naked again except for his underwear, coiled within the safety of the cool sheets in Huesyth’s bedroom. The emotional exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on him so allowing himself to sink back into the mattress and disappear into the void of sleep was far more appealing. More appealing than having to think about just how much of a mess his life had become. But he tried to push it to the back of his mind once he thought he was beginning to fade into unconsciousness.

“Do you know what an imago is, Bec?”

The empath sighed softly, his eyes opened slightly to see Huesyth sitting in a chair at the bedside with his sketchbook open in his lap. Another time he felt a strange sense of deja vu but this time it only filled him with despondency.

It reminded him of their first time together where Bec was warm and happy and stretched out like a pleased cat against the bed while Huesyth desperately tried to recreate his likeness. There was an ache in his chest at the memory. It seemed to mock him by how innocent it was in comparison.

“It’s a flying insect, if I recall,” Bec answered, voice slurred with his want to sleep.

But Huesyth continued on. “It's the last stage of a transformation.”

“When you become who you will be until the end of your days. A final form,” The empath stated.

The scratching of graphite against paper paused briefly as Huesyth peeked up at the younger man. “It's also a term from the dead religion of psychoanalysis. An imago is an image of a loved one, buried in the unconscious but carried with us all our lives.”

“An ideal,” Bec whispered as he stared into the darkness of the ceiling above him.   
“The concept of an ideal... I have a concept of you, just as you have a concept of me.”

Softly, Bec sighed. “Neither of us are very ideal.”

“Both of us are too curious about too many things for any ideals.” There was a pause before the sound of the pencil began again. “Is it ideal that Jack die?”

Bec hesitated almost imperceptibly, his breath trapped in his chest for a moment. “I think it's necessary. What happens to Jack has already been preordained by God or the universe or… something.”

“Something beyond yourself?” Huesyth asked. There was another pause before the sound of the sketchbook being closed and set aside registered in Bec’s ears. “We could disappear right now. Tonight. Feed your snakes, leave a note for Alana and your sister and never see them or Jack again. It would almost be polite if you think about it.”

It was a suggestion that caught Bec off guard and had him sitting up straight in the bed to get a better look of the doctor. Just to be sure he wasn’t playing some kind of a cruel joke but no. Huesyth’s face was as serious as always and it had Bec pulling the sheets up more securely on him.

“Then this would be our last night together in this life… and our last supper.”

Huesyth, face tight with thought, conceded with a slight nod. “I was thinking of serving lamb.”

Bec averted his eyes, mumbling to himself. “...Sacrificial?”

“I don't need a sacrifice. Do you?”

“I need him to know,” Bec sighed to himself. “If I confess to Jack Crawford right now…”

His voice trailed off, carrying the rest of his words out into the wind. Huesyth interrupted his doubting when he didn’t continue. “I would forgive you. If Jack were to tell you all is forgiven, would you accept his forgiveness?”

_ You wouldn’t forgive me if you knew what I did to you, _ Bec thought bitterly but didn’t say it aloud.

Instead, the empath’s eyes met with the doctor. “Jack isn't offering forgiveness. He wants... Justice. He wants to see you. See who you really are and what I've become... He wants the truth.”

Thoughtful, Huesyth stared briefly at the younger man before he too averted his eyes. “To the truth, then. And all its consequences.”

But the empath looked back up to the doctor sadly, not even trying to hide how scared he was of the change happening. Finally, he slipped out from between the sheets, uncurling from them like a budding flower to instead slide into the doctor’s vacant lap like he belonged there and nowhere else. Though the taller man was momentarily surprised, he immediately settled back into the chair as Bec made himself comfortable in his lap. The younger man began pressing warm kisses against Huesyth’s lips, as warm and kind as he could manage.

But the doctor beneath him was as stiff and unmoving like the empty marble statue that Bec used to think he was. It wasn’t right anymore. That wasn’t the Huesyth that Bec knew.

“Stop it,” Bec whispered desperately, drawing back from the taller man.

For a moment, Huesyth seemed confused as he breathed out. “Stop what?”

“Stop thinking,” Bec demanded softly, cupping Huesyth’s face and pressing a quick kiss against his lips. “Just… Just enjoy me. Enjoy  _ us _ in this life before we have to leave it all behind.”

He ran his hands down the doctor’s clothed chest as he drew closer for more demanding kisses, a futile attempt to bring Huesyth out of the vastness of his own mind. When Huesyth seemed to not be moving, Bec was about to give up on his attempt to soothe the doctor’s soul until warm hands rested on his bare hips.

One of those hands smoothed up the length of his spine and Bec arched into the feeling, pulling away to move more firmly into the hand that was tangling into his hair. By the grip in his hair, he was pulled back in and Bec finally thought he melted whatever doubt Huesyth was having. Before a loud sound broke their silence.

When they recognized the sound of Bec’s phone, the empath didn’t flinch and Huesyth didn’t growl in agitation. Bec only sighed sadly, shakily standing from Huesyth’s lap when the doctor’s hands dropped from him and immediately feeling the cold leak into his bones without Huesyth’s warmth. His clothes were laid haphazardly over the foot of the bed and he dug through his jacket pockets until he pulled his phone free, hoping that the call would just drop but knowing it wouldn’t.

Putting the phone to his ear after begrudgingly accepting the call, Bec greeted harshly. “Hello?”

“ _ Bec, where are you right now?” _

The empath scoffed softly when he recognized the voice of his brother. “I’m not home.”

“ _ Yeah, I know. I’m at your house right now. _ ”

That caused Bec to do a double take. Amaund wasn’t supposed to be in town at all let alone squatting in Bec’s house. It took everything in him not to react appropriately and start screaming his head off at his brother. As calmly as he could, he asked.  “Why exactly?”

“ _ Well excuse me, sunshine, _ ” Amaund nagged and the empath pinched the bridge of his nose when he felt a headache begin behind his eyes. “ _ I got worried about you since I left. You never exactly told me what the hell happened after- _ ”

“I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

There was a pause and Bec almost thought that the call was dropped before Amaund asked quietly. “ _ Is he in the room with you? _ ”

Bec hesitated in his answer. He could feel Huesyth’s eyes drilling into him from behind. “...Yes.”

There was a loud scoff. “ _ Bec! Why?! _ ”

“This isn’t something I can talk on the phone about,” Bec muttered and he heard a soft sigh from behind him.

“ _ Then when can I expect you back here? _ ”

The empath groaned. “Give me an hour.”

“ _ See ya there then. _ ”

The call dropped abruptly and Bec stared at the phone in his hand as if it personally offended him. He didn’t want to turn around at all because he knew the expression he’d see if he did.

“I need to go home,” Bec whispered. “I should be back in a couple of hours though so…”

“That’s fine, Bec,” Huesyth said, voice tight and strained. “We should be prepared to leave soon though.”

“I will be,” The empath replied with a nod. “I’ll be ready when I get back. I swear.”

 

“You shouldn’t have even come back into town, Amaund!” The empath snapped at his brother as he pushed passed him. “When I told you to leave, I meant it!”

Amaund scoffed, loud and dramatic as he folded his arms over his chest. His hair was cut slightly shorter and slicked back, dyed a darker shade of brown with temporary dye as if Huesyth wouldn’t recognize him by face alone. He certainly looked like a man on the run and Bec didn’t recognize the rental car parked outside his house.

“I left you in a cannibalistic serial killer’s dining room, Bec, and you haven’t talked at all since then!”

“Jesus, you sound like Sofia,” Bec grumbled to himself.

Amaund cocked his head slightly, furrowing his brow. “Did she call you too?”

“Not really. She showed up at the B.A.U. while I was working and demanded to speak to me.”

A muffled snort came from the taller man and Bec narrowed his eyes questioningly. “Hey, she’s the only one who could ever get you to talk.”

At the same time, Bec groaned in agitation, his phone began to ring again and he nearly took the phone and threw against the nearest wall.

“If this thing rings one more damn time…” He seethed as he pulled it out and brought it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“ _ It’s Alana. Is Jack with you? _ ”

Bec looked up at his brother who raised a questioning eyebrow at the shorter man. “No. Why?”

“ _ They've issued a warrant for your arrest, Bec. For acting as an accessory to entrapment.” _ There was a thud beside him and Bec and Amaund looked up to see the snakes beginning to writhe in their tanks. Knocking over their rock formations and smacking the glass with their tails like they did when Randall was stalking the outside of Bec’s home. “ _ And for the murder of Randall Tier. They're going to arrest Jack as well. _ ”

Bec looked up to the living room window to see two dark SUVs passing in the road, turning to begin slowly approaching the house down the gravel driveway.

“What did you do?” Amaund asked softly, observing the same SUVs.

“ _ Bec? _ ” Alana asked on the phone.

The empath whispered back without taking his eyes off of the approaching vehicles. “Goodbye, Alana.”

He quickly hung up his phone, moving forward to his desk to yank his handgun out from where he’d hid it and despite his brother’s questions, Bec grabbed Amaund’s wrist and his coat as they burst out of the back of the house. They ran through the tall snow until they reached the treeline beyond his home. Urgent and desperate, Bec drug out his phone again, punching in the number before pushing it up to his ear.

“What are you doing?” Amaund asked. “Who are you calling?”

Bec didn’t have any answers. He had no idea what he was doing when his ear filled with the sounds of the ringing but as soon as the call connected, Bec stiffened.

“ _ Hello? _ ”

He stared off into the distance, watching as the FBI descended on his house once again and felt the way Amaund was pulling on the sleeve of his jacket.

Dragging in a soft inhale, Bec spoke clearly. “They know.”

 

The call from Bec left a sour taste in the doctor’s mouth. No matter how betrayed he felt by the empath, he appreciated the warning.

The knife slid smoothly through the tender meat, his movements almost robotic and lacking his usual flare for the dramatics. A shape moved out of the corner of his eye and the doctor looked up from his work to meet Jack’s determined eyes.

“Hello, Jack. You’re early.”

The older agent didn’t look amused. They both knew that the other knew more than they were saying. “I couldn’t wait to get here.”

Huesyth turned the knife block towards the other man, an offering of a weapon or maybe an olive branch. “Would you care to sous-chef?”

Jack barely glanced at the knives and then back to the doctor, speaking softly. “I want to thank you for your friendship, Huesyth.”

“The most beautiful quality of true friendship is to understand them. Be understood with absolute clarity.”

“And this is... The clearest moment of our friendship.”

They simply stared for a long, nearly dead silent moment until something subtle changed behind Huesyth eyes, almost immeasurable but Jack noticed.

The agent’s hand drifted toward his inner coat pocket, brushing his thumb against the fastening of his sidearm holster at the same time the knife left Huesyth’s hand. Jack draws his gun from the holster but the flying knife sunk into the back of his hand, the gun clattering to the floor.

In a flurry of movement, Huesyth vaulted over the kitchen counter as Jack yanked the knife from his hand, swinging it immediately as the doctor approached, narrowly missing him. Huesyth grabbed the agent’s wrists slamming his elbow into the man’s arm to knock the knife to the floor. As Jack got the same hold on Huesyth as the doctor had on him, the taller man kicked the gun away under one of the cabinets.

Jack smeared blood over Huesyth’s shirt as he gripped him, kicking him in the stomach and knocking his hands away as barreled into him, picking him up by the waist and slamming him back into the glass of one of the cupboards, effectively shattering it over Huesyth’s head. Punching at Jack’s revealed head, Huesyth was dragged back from the cabinet to be thrown into the counter. With Jack quickly approaching, Huesyth’s hand wrapped around the handle of a pan which he swung around to slam across Jack's face.

The agent grabbed a hold of Huesyth again and threw him with all his might into the wooden door of one of the cabinets, leaving a splintered hole the size of Huesyth’s head. Scrambling to his feet and breathing heavy, the doctor clashed with the older agent in a flurry of punches and kicks but he still managed to get Jack’s arm wrapped around his neck from behind.

Shouting into the doctor’s ear, Jack smashed them onto the counter again. Through his lack of air and the pain throbbing in his head, Huesyth scrambled for the knife block barely inches from his face until Jack noticed and flipped them around. But that allowed Huesyth to wrap his hand around the heavy salt dispenser and smash it over the side of Jack’s head, his grip faltering and releasing Huesyth.

The agent rose again with the knife that Huesyth had previously knocked out of his hand but the doctor avoided his persistent slashing at the air, pulling Jack’s arm down and kicking the knife away again. Blocking an incoming punch with his arm, Huesyth slammed his own fist across Jack’s face, knocking him to the floor. As the agent tried to pull himself back up, the doctor opened the fridge door and bashed Jack over the head with it.

With Jack momentarily shaken, Huesyth returned to the counter to slide one of the knives out of the knife block. He turned back and had to dodge a fist thrown at his face, two more punches from the agent before Huesyth could reach around to grab him by the throat and throw him back into the counter. Bringing down the knife, it sunk into a cutting board that Jack brought up to block his face from the blade. Huesyth’s lip curled back in a snarl as Jack struggled to keep the knife tip from sinking into his face. Jack pulled back before smashing the cutting board into the side of Huesyth’s head, knocking off balance.

With a shout of effort, Jack swung Huesyth’s body over his head, slamming him into the floor. A hand curled into the back of Huesyth’s shirt collar, yanking him up just enough for a fist to fly into his face. The agent curled his tie around his hands before wrapping it around the doctor’s neck like a garrote wire.

Huesyth writhed and kicked, clawing at his neck with one hand as Jack strangled the life out of him. Trying to throw him off balance until Jack heaved him over his shoulder, lifting the doctor up until his feet didn’t touch the floor anymore, effectively hanging him.

His eyelids fluttered as he tried to focus but soon, Huesyth’s body went limp against Jack’s back. Breathing heavily and his spike of adrenaline fading, Jack slid Huesyth’s body to the ground again with the doctor’s arm slumping loosely to his sides just enough for his hand to reach one of the shards of glass littered across the floor.

He plunged the shard of glass into the agent’s neck who recoiled, stumbling backward into the pantry for an escape and clutching the wound. With the air suddenly returning to him, Huesyth rose again, picking up one of his butcher knives from the counter before bodily throwing his shoulder into the pantry door that Jack had closed after him but it didn’t budge. Moving back a few feet before rushing and slamming into it again, causing a few splinters to fly off. He slid down it, springing to his feet only to slam against it but a shaky, firm voice demanded.

“ _ Huesyth! _ ”

The doctor stopped in his attempts at the door, turning swiftly to the voice to find Alana standing in the doorway to the kitchen, brandishing a handgun that she had trained on him. He could see the way her eyes scanned him up and down, taking in the blood staining his hands and clothes and the bloody knives he had in his hands.

“Where’s Jack?” She asked, voice unsteady due to her mounting horror at the state of the room.

Huesyth sighed, truly disappointed to see her there before motioning with his head to the door he was just trying to break down. “In the pantry.”

The moment of truth. He wished it was Bec that was here with him instead but he supposed it was for the best that the empath didn’t have to see all of what he’d done.

“I was hoping you and I wouldn't have to say goodbye. Nothing seen nor said. You may have found that rude… but honestly, it would have been merciful.” He took a measured step towards her and Alana’s finger tensed on the trigger of her gun as she back peddled a few steps.

“Stop!  _ Stop! _ ” Alana shouted, which he did. She shook her head slightly as if to shake out the confusion and fear. “I was so blind.”

“In your defense, I worked very hard to blind you,” Huesyth calmly offered as if it would soothe her. “And you can stay blind, blind and safe. You can hide from all of this. Walk away, I'll make no plans to call on you. But if you stay... I will kill you.” He took in a heavy exhale, his hand clutching the knife ever tighter. “Be blind, Alana. Don't be brave.”

But after a moment's pause, she pulled the trigger and the gun clicked. She pulled it again and another empty click. A few more desperate clicks.

“I took your bullets,” Huesyth warned.

Alana stared, frozen in place as simple terror washed over her. She stumbled backward before turning on her heel and running back into the dark of the house from where she came.

Another voice spoke up, dark and demanding as a shape passed behind him, it growled. “ **_Kill her._ ** ”

Huesyth took a breath, then gave reluctant pursuit after the woman as she charged up the stairs in an attempt to escape. But as soon as she rounded the bend to enter the second floor, the doctor hesitated, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs before he dropped the two knives onto a chair.

He took his time climbing the stairs then but could hear Alana clearly as she quickly moved through the hallway to one of the rooms at the end, slamming the door behind her and locking it. He knew the room she picked. She should’ve chosen a different one.

Moments later, two warning shots went through the wood of the door and Huesyth flinched at the sound.

“I found more bullets!” He heard Alana shout before another bullet was shot through the door.

But everything seemed to grow quiet after that bullet was fired off and Huesyth cocked his head down the hallway until he heard an explosive crash echoing from the end of the hall. It was followed by a dull, heavy thwack from outside of the house as Alana’s body predictively hit the cement on the front steps.

 

The taxi pulled to a stop outside the home and Bec rushed out, being pelted by heavy rain along the way as he moved up the sidewalk. But he hesitated when he looked towards the front door and saw it sitting open. It made him pause until he looked down to the front step to see a body laying across the wet cement, surrounded by glittering pieces of glass.

He rushed to their side to find Alana there, dropping to his knees as a line of red dribbled out of the side of Alana’s mouth. Until she took in a deep breath, having the wind knocked out of her from the apparent fall from the second-floor window above. She tried to speak, urgent and desperate as blood bubbled up in her mouth. But Bec pulled off his jacket and draped it over her freezing form as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

“This is Bec Reyes,” He said into the speaker of the phone to the operator. “I need ERT at five Chandel Square.”

The empath searched around the yard, anguished and confused and hoping that Huesyth didn’t creep up behind him. As he shoved his phone back into his pocket, a hand gripped his tightly, blood smearing on him.

“Jack is inside…” Alana’s face was twisted in pain and Bec drew his gun from his waistband. “ _ Go _ .”

The empath quickly stood, brushing the wet strands of his hair aside as he stepped through the door. Water dripped from him and his clothes clung to his body as he maneuvered, so slow and so tense, around the dark corners until he slid towards the kitchen. The only light he had seen in the house.

There was destruction everywhere and Bec shakily looked about the room as he entered, the blood smears and the chaos making him swallow heavily. Blood was pooling from beneath the pantry door, a dark ever growing stain across the wood floor. Bec crossed to the door and then stopped abruptly once he realized that the creeping feeling in the back of his mind was him realizing he's not alone. He turned, gun still brandished but stopped as soon as he registered just who was standing in the kitchen before him.

Someone he thought had been dead.

Abigail Hobbs stood there, her face streaked with tears as she fought to hold back a sob. The gun slowly lowered as he struggled to register her, that tugging gut feeling that something was still wrong being momentarily overridden by his sheer confusion.

“Abigail?”

The young Hobbs began to shake, a whimper escaping her lips. “I didn't know what else to do so... I just did what he told me.”

Bec gave a heavy exhale, looking her up and down before he finally mustered up the willpower to ask. “Where is he now?”

Abigail’s face suddenly fell and he noticed her wide eyes were directed just over his left shoulder. It took a moment to realize just what Abigail had to be looking at. The feeling of something so much darker looming behind him had him nearly swallowing his tongue.

“You were supposed to  _ leave _ ,” Bec asserted quietly as he slowly turned to face Huesyth. He couldn’t hide the way his voice shook with fear.

The doctor’s white shirt was covered with blood, smears of red spattered his face and hands as he tipped his head to the side slightly. “We couldn’t leave without you.”

But the empath shook his head, shellshocked. “ _ Yes _ , Huesyth. Yes, you could’ve. W-We need to leave.”

“ **_You idiot,_ ** ” A dangerous voice raged into Huesyth’s ear and the taller man broke eye contact with the empath once the figment crossed to his side. He could see it waving its arms wildly next to him as it snapped. “ **_You messed everything up. I told you he would kill you and look at you now. And you still think he loves you, don’t you? You still think he’s going to run away with you?_ ** ”

“Huesyth, please-” Bec hesitated once the doctor hadn’t answer.

“Not yet, my love,” Huesyth whispered, resting a hand on Bec’s jaw to draw him close enough to press a soft kiss against the empath’s other cheek.

“ **_Oh, you weak little monster,_ ** ” Mind Bec hissed in disgust, rolling his eyes dramatically. The robe the imaginary empath was wearing was pitch black, the darkest piece of clothing Huesyth had ever seen him in. Huesyth pulled himself away from Bec, moving stiffly across the expanse of the kitchen and causing Abigail to flinch and step aside as he stepped passed her. “ **_All this time running, all this time dedicated to building your perfect person disguise to hide just how ugly you really are. But you throw it all away for something you_ ** **never** **_deserved._ ** ”

His shoulders seemed heavy as Huesyth leaned forward against the countertop with his head bowed. Bec could see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he watched the man from behind and gave a weak breath.

“Huesyth, I’m sorry,” Bec apologized and he could see the way the doctor immediately stiffened. “It all got away from me. I… I didn’t know what I wanted. But I do now.”

“ **_He wants to kill you,_ ** ” The figment whispered from behind Huesyth. “ **_He still has that gun. You know he’ll press it against your skull and paint the countertops with your brain if you don’t stop him._ ** ”

“I want to be with you, Huesyth. But we need to leave. The FBI… they’ll be here soon and I-I...”

Huesyth seemed to sigh softly and the hand he had rested on the countertop clenched tightly around something.

“ **_You gave him your pathetic loneliness, your darkest desires, the hunger in your heart… and he spat it back in your face. He betrayed you, Huesyth. Just kill him._ ** ”

“I want  _ you _ , Hues-”

But closer came a whisper. “ **_He wants you dead, Hues-_ ** ”

Moving swiftly in an attempt to silence the chatter, Huesyth whipped around to plunge the blade of a linoleum knife into the imaginary Bec’s abdomen. The figment stared, wide-eyed and fear filled as he gasped and clutched Huesyth’s arm but the blade pushed deeper. It ripped through his skin and clothing as it was dragged harshly through his stomach. Blood sprayed between them, a pool forming beneath them as the knife was torn from his abdomen but then there was a clatter to the floor.

Huesyth looked down, face still rage-filled at the infectious words of the imaginary empath, before he found the dark silhouette of a gun against the ruined floor. Confusion tinged his features before he peered up over the figment’s shoulder to see Abigail there, her mouth hanging open in shock at the scene.

“Huesyth…” Came a weak cough before the empath collapsed to the floor.

The doctor looked up to see imaginary Bec standing across the kitchen, face still shocked, before looking down at the stream of dark blood pouring from his stomach like a waterfall. He disappeared as suddenly as he appeared and Huesyth shuttered.

Desperately, Bec was clutching at his own abdomen. His innards no doubt straining against the wound as he pulled himself away from Huesyth’s grip and collapsed against a wall. He saw his hands come away with more and more blood. More and more red until he was stained up to the elbows with it, and there was nothing but pain blossoming through his being.

“So time did reverse,” Huesyth began above him but Bec wasn’t paying attention. The fear in him wasn’t for his own safety. “The teacup that I shattered came together in the end. The place was made for Abigail in your world. Do you understand?”

Desperately, Bec shook his head, gasping and choking on a scream as the horror of what had just happened began to set in. “The place was made for all of us, together. I wanted to surprise you. And you... You wanted to surprise me.”

The empath’s entire body was shaking, trying to stay conscious and out of shock as the pool of blood around him seemed to only grow wider. “I let you know me. See me. I gave you a rare gift but you didn't want it.”

“Didn’t I?” The empath finally sputtered in response.

“You would deny me my life,” Huesyth snapped.

He shook his head again, tears stinging his eyes. “N... no. No. Not your life, no.”

“My freedom, then. You would take that from me. Confine me to some prison cell.” His shirt and pants were soaked through with blood and the damage didn’t seem to be stopping. The laceration was so low, too low and too deep and Bec felt a sob bubbling up in his throat. “Do you believe you could change me, the way I've changed you?”

“The twins…” Bec muttered.

Huesyth cocked his head slightly. “What?”

“I was pregnant,” Bec sobbed loudly, not wanting to look the doctor in the eye. “We were going to have twins…”

There was a pause in the kitchen as Bec was wracked with grief. The futile clutching of his front did nothing, his burning tears did nothing. It felt like they were bleeding through his fingers. He whimpered as he stared at his hand, slick with red. “No, no,  _ no… _ ”

“Fate and circumstance have returned us to this moment... the very moment when the teacup shatters,” Huesyth finally said and Bec wanted to scream at him. “I forgive you, Bec. Will you forgive me?”

“Don't… N-N- don't, Huesyth... No. Please, no,” Bec kept repeating, sputtering through his tears as Huesyth held a hand out to Abigail.

“Abigail, come to me.”

Terrified and confused, Abigail hesitantly grasped the offered hand and allowed Huesyth to tug her to him despite Bec’s begging. There was nowhere else for her to go. The doctor held her against his front and the glint of the small, curved blade being brought up to her neck made a shiver run through the empath’s body. She knew then exactly what she had done, Abigail had made a deal with the devil.

Anguished at what he knew was about to happen, Bec begged, screaming at Huesyth to stop. But the doctor sliced through Abigail’s throat in a single, sleek motion, right across the scar her father had left. Abigail's face showed only shock and horror as blood sprayed across the empath and she crumpled to the floor before Bec.

Abigail clutched at her throat in an attempt to stop the bleeding but it poured from between her fingers and the most horrifying sense of familiarity seemed to hit Bec all at once through his sobs. This was just like all those months ago in the Hobbs house where he had tried so hard to save her. Where he tried to save her mother and failed. He had shot down her father and held his hands to Abigail’s throat but they were too shaky. Too much adrenaline pumping through him to make him useful.

It was Huesyth who saved her then but he saved her only to kill her.

“You can make it all go away,” Huesyth whispered, kneeling in front of the empath as he watched Abigail suffer. “Just put your head back... Close your eyes and wade into the quiet of your own mind.”

He saw a tear stream down Huesyth’s face before the doctor abruptly stood, disappearing into the darkness of the house and leaving them to bleed out on his kitchen floor.

Sliding down the wall, Bec pulled himself over to Abigail, wading through their own blood to grasp her throat and hold her head back to stem the blood flow. His own wound tore slightly wider and he screamed through the pain. He could feel the strength in him leaving quickly, he felt weak. He tried to put pressure on her wound but his grip faltered and slid away as another gush of hot blood painted them. It all became too much and he collapsed.

Blood stained his face as he turned in the puddle forming beneath them. He looked over the kitchen as his vision seemed to fade but found the black snake there. Lying coiled in a mess on the kitchen floor with them and dragging in steaming gasps of air. It was dying too. The one he’d been trying to kill all that time finally bled to death with a deep gash down the expanse of its own underbelly.

It heaved desperately for air as if it were drowning before it stopped moving altogether.

 

The plane was quiet except for the few whisperings around them and the sound of the stewardess speaking to each row. For some reason he could still taste the rain on his lips, mixed with the metallic bite of blood he had staining him. Every time he let his mind wander, he found himself back outside of his home, ripping the coat from Alana’s body. He had wrapped it around himself, covered the bloodstains on his shirt with it. Drowning in the muted scent of the empath as he escaped alone.

The stewardess reached them, smiling politely and offering a neat tray of water, orange juice, and champagne.

“Jus d’orange. L’eau. Champagne.”

“Champagne, please,” He asked and she leaned down to allow him to take one of the offered glasses. “Merci.”

But she then looked past him to the other two seats occupied behind him. “Madame? Monsieur?”

He turned to the seats next to him to find Bedelia there, the weight of the world appeared to be on her shoulders but she forced a polite smile. “Merci non.”

The other one behind her turned from where he’d been gazing out the window. Delmar’s face was far less restrained and calculated and he wore his extreme displeasure all over his expression. He waved an indifferent hand and looked back to the window, slouching onto his other hand.

Huesyth looked up at the woman and offered a smile. “Non pour lui aussi.”

The stewardess nodded in understanding and moved on to the next row. He looked over at his two guests but Delmar’s obvious discomfort caused the fake smile he’d been holding to wither. Sipping from his champagne, Huesyth leaned his head back against the headrest, let his eyes slide shut, and waded into the quiet freedom of his own mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to NBC's Hannibal, nor its script and characters, and I don't make any money off of this fic. I rewrote it for me and a friend of mine purely for fun as a way to explore the events but with our original characters and just decided to start posting it.
> 
> New chapter every Wednesday!!


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